The fallen leaves roll along
the asphalt, slowly changing
their colour, from green to dark brown.
More and more they resemble
faces of children at dusk, when the day wanes.
So many times you watched that tree
and it offered itself to your glance,
indifferent, with its breath abate.
Its root hair, its tissue, the juices that
feed the body that wriggles
and breaks away from the firm embrace
of your consciousness. Maybe you do not see it
but the tree looks straight
into your eyes.