Where, then, has it gone?

Where, then, has it gone?

A dead leaf falls, till, landing lives again

Upon the back of flowing water warm

Till, oppressed, it soon begins to sink

Pushed, pulled, and lost under white water’s storm

And there, below the surface, driven on

Pinned ’neath water’s weight and mud-anchored rock

It watches time take place, the river long

Erode, leaving ridges to mark time’s clock

Now worn and tired, pressed on to reach the dawn

To meet the horizon, to greet the sky

And kiss the sun then, current-pulled, move on

Leaving only a softly whispering sigh

But past the horizon, what lies there, or flows?

And where, then, has it gone? Nobody knows.