If a leaf fell in the forest
would you hear the sound of it?
Would it’s still small voice
turn your ear to its descending color?
Before the fall, they hung in piles
upon the air, green and greener veins
sipping life out of the twig tips.
They clapped their hands upon the wind.
Now burnished and fainting, they blush
and leap on breezes that speak
of new seasons, changes that come
when they lay themselves down.