The Autumn leaves have fallen
and made a batik-cloth like print
on the concrete of my driveway.

They took their color with them,
leaving dull brown-grey shadows
like Jesus did on the Shroud of Turin.

One last work of art with what’s
left of their perfect bodies exactly
the shape as when they were alive,
every point and line.

The essence of color, their souls,
if you will, faded in Autumn’s end,
Their bodies gusting down empty streets
in the dancing whirling dervish wind,
to be washed away in rain,
or carried away in a bag.

The husks of their bodies, only
palettes, for the color and glory of
perfect beauty, seen now un-seen,
and in turn will be seen again.
Heaven on Earth.