Between Tuesday and Wednesday

Between Tuesday and Wednesday

On the sidewalk
a leaf has come to rest

though in this light
it appears to be
a small wooden boat

arriving after
a long and patient voyage.

It has crossed
entire oceans of afternoon,
weathered the storm of a passing footstep,
survived the investigation
of a curious dog,

and the great wind
between Tuesday and Wednesday.

Now it approaches shore.

The water is suddenly still—
flat and paved,
holding no reflection.

After so much weather,
this quiet
must feel unfamiliar.

The harbor is dark—
not ominous,
just unlit.

It cannot see
what waits for it there.

Perhaps a quiet corner.
Perhaps a broom.
Perhaps nothing at all.

It has carried its single passenger
faithfully—
a small worry or two,
a fading summer,
the memory of a tree.

And having delivered
what it was meant to carry,

it drifts the last inch forward,

touching land
without knowing
what comes next—

already listening
for the wind,
the distant tide,
and the call of a gull.