A leaf fell off a tree,
wafted in the wind.
A moment’s hesitance,
and then, not caring where it went,
it settled below a park bench.
I picked it up,
and placed it in between the pages of a poem.
A few days later,
the leaf had dried,
its skeleton flattened out in submission
between words plucked out from my head.
The poem stood just the way it always did.
I picked up another leaf,
and wrote another poem to accompany it.