BE THE BEAVER

Look at this flower

Not scared to grow right on the edge of rushing water

Blooming beside the beer cans tossed on shore

A web of tangled fishing line through the alders

Could trap a man

Into frowning at the flotsam

And that’s fine

But don’t get stuck

In madness over the bobber left swinging in the trees

I grab the line and follow it

Unwind it twig by twig

It leads me to a patch of ripe berries

With the bobber I might teach a kid to fish

I stuff the line in my pocket

I’ll throw it away

I eat the fruit

I watch the Beaver

Gliding

He stops to slap his tail at me

To say “I see you here”

But he’ll go on working

Making mountains

Moving rivers

And the flower, even flooded, will still bloom.