Minute Canoes

The square roots 

of autumn 

divide 

by definition

and slow until 

crescent arcs 

of descent cradle 

each leaf into 

a grass grave,

baked brown

into minute canoes, 

waiting for breakage

under a boot

Reviews

[Ciara]

This is a great little poem. Very creative and clever.
Great imagery and imagination.

[Katrina]

Wow, this takes my breath away. It reminds me a bit of those really detailed drawings you see that are smaller than a penny. You said so much with so little. A true architect, you are.