I took a splash
in the creek.
The ground was wet
and the rock
misspoke
to my wandering foot.

Rhinoceros, hippopotamus,
Arteriosclerosis, hippocampus...
words alone do not make a poem.

We must get them started lumbering,
thudding in the wet mud of our minds.

Some words become extinct.
A passenger pigeon explodes in frenzy
leaving tiny black marks on white paper.

Giraffe, auk,
antelope, gazelle...
see the poem leap gracefully,
arc in air, bound above tall prairie grass

then shot down by a hunter/critic
who, standing triumphant over the dead form

did not see the rhinoceros
sneaking up behind.