The River

A good poet lets rhythm roll on
like a song about the Columbia river
or a heartbeat, without building a dam
or overanalyzing;
You know, the heart is a funny thing,
it beats our whole lives, skips rarely,
the metaphorical one too rolls on,
not that it leaves what it loves in a hurry,
it rolls like water, loving its upstream and downstream
and never has to take itself out of the game
to know where to go and what to do,
friend of gravity, gently persistent
with whatever is in its way
and never ceasing its rich and gentle duty
until the clouds no longer gather.

I'm not such a good poet.
I criticize, worry too much, contrast needlessly.
Yet, my heart has no questions
it doesn't tire,
it only sings