Four rivers cross paths here —
rivers that run alongside vast stretches of woods,
past empty cookie-cutter houses,
away from the crowded trailer parks,
beneath the bridges carrying the cars
carrying the people
back to happier, safer places.
The creek in our town isn't quite a river,
but she pours herself into the nearest one.
She gives everything —
water, fish, empty beer cans, and
lucky pennies —
to her upstream friends.
I can't swim in her depths, no,
but I can admire her strength
while I stand alone on the shore,
waiting for something interesting
to float down to me.
