A leaf is edging down the path
outside the window,
It just flipped over and now lies still as if taking a rest.
It’s long stem anchoring it to the sun drenched paving,
It’s body is puckered and tattered.
Battle weary from a long protracted war with concrete.
It’s edged an inch since I’ve started writing,
Since you’ve started reading, and a man just stood on it,
turning it over again.
You may think it has no significance.
It doesn’t, but with one flip it’s shouting-
neither does anything else and all is whole, all is complete.