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.

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