Do

The rest of the leaves go into oblivion.

This leaf alone, its words written over words

Till night as black is how it, blurred, occurred,

Explains what I want my one in a million

Words to do, to touch, to circle, to lift, to measure

In fewest syllables the multiplicity,

In numbers torrential her versatility,

In vocab vocal various the maker’s pleasure.

This leaf alone, quivering sheet of Reflex,

Could turn night to day with a simple twitch

Of perfect-for-now amidst out-dated rejects.

This leaf that good grief says Get A Life,

Return here tomorrow, but for now the switch

That turns day to night and calm out of strife.