I was one once, a small
fisherman in a small boat on
a small lake. I looked the part
with my rod and reel and
tackle box and net. I looked
like the real thing. I even caught
small fish, small bass, which
I threw back. But my small heart
wasn’t in it, and I didn’t like
putting hooks into small things,
so I quit. The only small thing
I miss is lying on my back in
the small boat drifting like
a small cloud on the sky,
the enormous, enormously blue, sky.

A muskrat swims home
with a branch full of leaves.

A blue heron bides
its time on one leg.

Four turtles turn
a log into four turtles.

The sun welcomes
the water lilies.

The water lilies
welcome the sun.

A bullfrog invents poetry.
Another bullfrog invents rhyme.