Watershed: A Poem

Watershed

I was taught young that my veins stretched out along streams

and eventually flowed out to sea.

In school they showed us how our wrists map the lines of water

that run through the city.

If every river meets the sea eventually

I suppose it makes sense how

the water lilies have tangled me

in wave rumbled longing,

and it could only be

that these palms, stained by the balmy blues of bending creeks,

would be reaching to touch the wind whipped shores

of foam and forgiveness.