I have never been one for stillness. 

I was born a wild one. 

My knees were always bruising,

whether it be from beating against 

those ancient red oak church pews

or slipping on river rocks.

I was always barefoot. 

I could not make myself trust 

The Watchman.

It was always questions, never answers.

Always waiting, 

Never moving. Never knowing. 

Never anything but stagnant.

I put myself in charge of a 

styrofoam cup

Containing three minnows

I’d mistaken for tadpoles. 

I only noticed 

on the long haul home

when a bump in the road 

sent them air-borne. 

We all splattered against the

windshield and once I pried 

my eyes apart the first thing I saw

were fins.

I, too, could walk on water 

when nobody was looking.