I better write this poem for you,
Or you’ll be angry, and then I won’t know what to do.
And then there’s all this water, because I built a dam,
So I better use it, or you won’t know who I am.
Other poets run free, their pebbly streams
Laugh; no, I want you to recognize my dreams;
The serenity and solemnity of my wide lake
Lets out the water languidly and slow,
And that’s how you discern that it’s me, that’s how you know
I am the poet who plays simple chords,
And lines up big thoughts behind small words.
Do you remember that sublime evening?
It was just you and I, lingering by water large and still,
I wanted you to know me;
I wrote you a certain kind of poetry;
Then it was night, and slowly, we walked over the hill.