Street Sweeping

By Olivier Bochettaz
 
this poem is an autumn
          leaf
      
      detached from
                      its branch
 
cold     drying   sapless
 
             it lies 
 
undistinguished
 
             fallen   but
displaying
                  
                   still
 
original vitality
 
 
all the way
                   until sunday’s
 
street sweeping