Recently I’ve been challenging myself to produce the final draft of poems within 15 minutes of writing the first draft. This is because I struggle with a little thing called “perfectionism.” So here’s one of the first poems I’ve written without 5 or more revisions.
Leaves
In them,
you can see the veins of life,
spidering toward the edges,
curling up at the ends,
dry, beaten, torn in places
like they have been used up
to their fullest.
And now that they have been
used up to their fullest,
they will become
part of the
forest floor.
And one day
we will join them,
the circle of life
spiraling on.
