<br/><br/><br/><br/>I once<br/>as a young boy<br/>stood on a little<br/>wooden country bridge;<br/>tip-toed to look at<br/>the languid moving water<br/><br/>Tomorrow popped up -<br/>the wind that had blown in<br/>tore off a leaf from<br/>a tall standing tree<br/>roots entrenched<br/>by the water's edge<br/><br/>and this leaf<br/>wafted and fluttered<br/>and glided into the<br/>current below<br/>taken bodily<br/>where gravity pulls<br/><br/>and drifted upon the<br/>wavelets lapping<br/>and pushing<br/>its severed self<br/>far, far away into<br/>the distance<br/><br/>I heard the crickets<br/>and the cicadas<br/>droning in the<br/>afternoon sun;<br/>those things could<br/>ruin your ears!<br/><br/>and all the while<br/>I gazed upon the<br/>fallen leaf<br/>hoping to spy on<br/>what the future<br/>promised downstream:<br/><br/>that if I let go<br/>of whatever it was<br/>that kept me there<br/>feet dangling through<br/>the rusted railing;<br/>heart racing<br/><br/>would I wake up<br/>and return to the<br/>bustling world<br/>unable to swim<br/>against the current<br/>rudely torn off<br/><br/><br/><br/>