Two-stanza poem

Glacial Age
In glacial pre-North America I creep forward.
Because I am curvaceous and shapely
I shape the land’s mountains
and smooth the hills’ curves;
a woman, I fashion them in my image.
There is someone inside me—a god, maybe,
and elsewhere this same god is inside my sisters,
guiding them in their creative paths.

A pasture spreads gently downhill,
coated with tall grass.
On a crisp, breezy day, a small stream runs,
winding, until it divides, curves,
then meets again, forming a small islet, and trickles onward.
A young boy watches this rivulet,
pondering the shape of stream and islet,
and proceeds to sing to himself, quietly,
about the footprints of his pet dinosaur.