WILLOW

What is the willow writing on the water, one branch bending in the wind, one tip breaking the flat white surface? Does it matter?

Yellow-leafed pond willow, rain’s own daughter, long roots stretch and search and sip. What is the willow writing on the water?

Shattering the mirror the sleek brown otter slides from the slick brown bank, and slips, breaks the flat white surface. Does it matter?

Comprehension, wisdom, nothing will come after the fleeting words are written. Who can keep what the willow is writing on the water?

Every shatter, every ripple, will break and scatter every message from the long yellow branch’s drip breaking the flat white surface. Does it matter?

And who am I to wonder, with my endless chatter, words unconsidered slipping endless from my lips? What is the willow writing on the water, breaking the flat white surface? Does it matter?