Autumn waters
Russet leaves hang,
the fingertips of long, slim maples
above forked brooks
above wooden drifters
in the black silent water,
illusionary macadamized roadways
of floating
graves.
Craving rest,
a soda bottle swirls,
old condensation glistening
in the setting sun.
It floats into the frothy sputum like water
of a fortress of twigs,
over which a beaver pats and crawls,
surveying his creation.