Note these leaves, green to brown, branch
To soil without turning red. They, too, fall.
This seems like a place where nothing happened,
Will happen, only a sun at noon, high
Against an autumnless November.
We do not have to know all the species of birds
Present here, but note the attention they pay
To the most miniscule of stones lodged between soft
Feathers, the quick heads, quicker beaks;
From a mile, everything as still as taxidermy.
