FLOW
A raindrop from my rooftop
makes its way through the Joe Pye weed and Black-eyed Susans
passing under street lights
and around lonely cars parked along the curb.
It knows the way to the local creek
following the contours of the ages.
Slowing ever so slightly as it passes behind a Home Depot
and negotiates a beaver dam.
Temporarily blinded
by the red silty runoff of a housing development.
Crossing county lines and interstates
winding through forests and fields
occasionally giving a lift to a lost bottle
or a plastic straw that nobody wanted or asked for.
Eventually joining all the other raindrops from all the other rooftops.
Connecting with the river
and winding their way for hundreds of miles
slow and steady
until they eventually meet the salty sea.
ENTANGLED
Where do I end, and you begin?
We breathe the same air
and take in the same light.
We are both enmeshed
in histories and memories and stories.
Though I do wish I could put down roots
and claim a place as home
the way you do.
Look at us, winding our way through life
trying to find a footing
and always seeking the right path.
Come on, admit it, we both sometimes need others
to occasionally lift us up.
We both are witness
to the graceful flight of the heron
and he lullaby of the creek trickle
and the wind through the pine tops
as we slowly grow older through the seasons
under an indifferent moon.
