After the late night shower,
by morning these leaves look exhausted
but content in their graves,
shiny too with clear pools
in their centers no bigger
than tears.
Whatever yesterday laid flat
and bruised in aridness
now gains a second wind
in the rain, a final taste, a gasp
that returns blood to their veins,
makes their brown spots shine
as small wide eyes.
I like this large maple leaf
in the center of mud
and not far away two thin eucalyptus leaves
whose edges were nibbled on last night,
seem now recovered, stretched out
on a neighbor's back, a small seed
hanging like a bell from its spine.
I mistake a red leaf for a feather
and place it on the belly of a fallen
chunk of bark,
dark as espresso,
arrange them all to my liking
and remove my camera from a pocket.
Part of me is always watching,
practicing their dying
Though I still feel
far away from my undoing.
Yet for a moment here,
it seems not so bad a thing
to one day lay down flat
on the great heart of this earth.
