I captured two enormous oak leaves
and brought them home.
Dark brown, thick and leathered,
kept for weeks,
they were meant to star in a poem:
Something about plenty and treasure
and being carried on the wind.
Yesterday, I let them go—
tucked them under
the lavender bush in the garden
to escape my attempts to pry them open,
or shape them into a message.
They deserved a rest, having
taught me all they could
about not disintegrating
or growing brittle.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 