The little leaf lives large,
Leaping out from under cars
To dance in the wind,
The tornadic roadside eddies
Or jog, unpaced, in breezes steady.
It leaps up into gusts.
It falls, but doesn't bust
Open. It is a hippie
stickman,
Twirling, tripping, living unplanned
Until it comes to a stop
In a pool-collecting ditch.
Weighted, soaked, dissolved by raindrops,
It dies the death of a witch.
Prompt: Write a poem that concentrates on the movement of a single object.
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