So, you decide this is worth
writing about, or painting—
the shapes of the branches on
the trees, how the afternoon sun
gleams on the mottled trunks,
how their reflections echo in the river.
You cannot change the image;
it has been there for centuries.
All you can do is move your own
body, shifting the angle here and there,
back and forth, so that you
see the thing differently,
until you find a satisfaction.
