I stand by the creek,
look at the water.
After you got sick,
your mom brought you lilacs.
You said: You don't know
how to take care of people.
I said, I don't know what
I said. Or maybe I said:
You are wrong. All our talks
seem to turn to fights. I stare
at a mallard craning its green neck,
propelling itself across the creek.
It seems so easy. Maybe it's not
a mallard. After all, what
do I know about waterfowl?