Each morning I watch you 
pass overhead, guided by 
my gentle curves. I hope you know 
I flow only to follow your path. 
Sometimes I fool myself into thinking 
you mimic my gentle babbling, 
but it is only the talk of travelers 
aboard your floating genius machine. 
They don’t appreciate your beauty
like I do. But I am not jealous. I only envy
their ability to climb aboard your craft. 
If only I could travel, I’d spend each morning 
with you, taking in the sunrise. 

But what of the fish, 
the lily pads, the floating logs, 
and the suddenly unhidden shells 
and clay that have found refuge 
in my waters for so long? 
What of the view 
you have from up there– 
suddenly, a great scar in the earth 
where I once was. 

I wonder if you ever wish 
to join me down here, skim 
your woven basket across my skin 
like a bat swooping down to sip 
water in breaking dusk.
Until that happens, I’ll be content 
to watch you soar above, 
a bright balloon of nothing 
but potential.