then the grass was (or is) 
burnished silver-white with dew
and the redwood on the edge 
of the meadow is (or was) 
loud with robin laughter.
The leaf had flushed 
an intenser red when 
the next leaf knocked 
and the last departed,
but the long dead below 
rest in Pollock patterns, 
a range of tan-tinted white, 
sepias, burnt sienna, lanced 
with lines of lichen streaks.
They fade as if into forgetfulness, 
always falling as each arising
moment sends this one away 
when I remind myself to remember

Footnote

In reference to, or perhaps in memory of, e e cummings.