Going
       

To seep
would be my way.

If I were a river,
I'd be trickly,

ankle-deep
and summer slow.

I'd rather be
a creek than

an Ohio
with barges

on my shoulders,
wake-foamed.

It's better
to be cunning,

creeping water,
to sneak and sop

moss beds,
to dampen sand

and be siphoned
by butterflies,

to rise in reeds
like music

in flutes,
a ribbon

capable of glint.

Copyright © 2010 Michael Chitwood All rights reserved
from Poor-Mouth Jubilee
Tupelo Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission