My Job as a Poet

my job as a poet
is to stare at a fountain 
trying to come up with the right word
for that place
where the streams come together 
into a white, jumping foam
—like spilled milk?
—like a break of waves?
—like a white fire boiling into a dance?

and then,
once I’ve found that word,
I must transform it 
into a metaphor 
about love
or death
or politics
or some other great big
important thing 

although I’m not sure 
that any of those things
are important
to the fountain

Written 11/11/24, while reading a book of poetry at Fountain Park in Rock Hill, SC.

everyday life, freestyle, musings, nature, non-rhyming, recently written, short, very short, writing life