To a Fallen Leaf in Mariñeiro Park

Mosaics of emerald sap-born life
secrets of your rough-hewn crisscross lace
still keep you soft.
I scarcely see the browning
slight curling
shrinking
splitting
omen emerging in your edges
shadows acridly reporting
emerald green becoming
death's black marrow.

 A fallen warrior on the ground
 moist wind no longer drumming
a cappella smells and sounds
kaleidoscope
mirror
now crippled, broken grace.

Uncrumpled, soft as living flesh
in a little breeze you shudder
then lie still again. 

What profane wind has plucked you
so soon from sanctuary?
What savage schedule broke you?
What merciless abandon?
Relentless memory prowls
to torture fated hours
constellations of a naked life:
salty blue-white arias born of morning
glowing silver-greens that dance at noon
chamomile reflections in the setting sun
echoing endless tragic glory.

Do I hear you sigh?
Do you scream or sob
or only wait in silent resignation?
Serene surrender spoiled and cursed
chaotic hunger swelling,   
wanting sweet-salt banquets rising from below
wanting
tasting
all your small conceits and fancies:
smiles, and eyelids wide but closed,
better poised for your perfume to enter
widened, pulsing noses
laughter
gossip
quarrels
kisses.

Did you think those sapphire days would be
forever?
Nestled in your boughs and branches
did you not await the unbeckoned bite
surprising
unannounced
that severed you, leaving you alone
and useless?

Was it all too soon?