Good for Me

I have to admit I love
Pushing foaming phrases up

Although I know they’re not good
For me and I’d do better

To sit in my wayside shade
And let other things create—

If you watch a stream near flood
You can find some standing waves

Against small rocks and tree roots
Just below high-water marks

Where the volume of the whole
Cresting brook as it rushes

Creates local surpluses
With which rocks and roots make waves—

That rush eventually
Inevitably recedes

And where there were leaping waves
There’s mud then crust and then dust

But for a while roots and stones
In harm’s way make sculptured waves

They constantly generate
That they cannot help but make

Elegant in a small way
Nothing that will hold its shape

But while they last relentless
Intricately foaming shapes

Forming again and again
Well and so what? Good for them