poetry

Watershed

For all my wisdom, I find it plumbs
no deeper than a puddle’s bottom.
Sitting shallow now in sidewalk cracks,
I once came from the deep. A rainstorm
took me thence and could carry me back,
bearing drops like me to watersheds.
When rivers, whose courses merge and braid,
bear me off, what little height or force
I bring—the depth to fill a thimble—
yet I tumble to the fellowship
of other puddles, seeming something
like the sea, all our wisdom teeming.

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