Perfection, a leaf stemmed

the art that bore a false familiar,

on that eager tree, tokens

fall like confetti birds swooping

cawing the monologues loud,

low down that traced path moves

with every step it scrapes feet

orchestrating flaws like song,

above nature watches deeply

depicting renditions

in their crumpled mass, all rust

falling so fast from branches

touching gales with a verse

of words before the chorus fades.