I have never known
the name of the creek
that winds through the neighborhood,
brackish, slow, beside the road,

but I have smiled at 
its myriad surprises,
gifts unique to inhuman
spaces everywhere -- 

burrs, spores, and flowers,
rainbowed still water,
dragonflies & unseen birds
resting, drinking, taking flight.

A Google maps search
reveals the name (White Rock Creek),
a name neither fitting nor
jarring. I log off.

And in my mind, see
it as I know it, nameless,
wild, quietly following 
its own old path through

our too busy lives.