Bruce McClain
I, Crumpled Leaf

I found my voice without words,
my music without melody.
Untethered, absorbed in thought outside
the margins is where I abide.
Hurdling the fence that separates
the ordinary from the unorthodox.
My muse? A crumpled leaf on the ground.
I imagine, then share
with the world. One day
I will fall too. But my pencil
will dance a step or more before
the bough gives up my coiled leaf,
before autumn lulls me to my deep sleep.