Leaf peepers, those voyeurs of dappled death,
perverts accoutered with disposable cameras,
deviants hoping for a bared glimpse of a rouged
maple or slender birch paling by the roadside.
They delight in nature's subtle malevolence,
the slow turn of chlorophyll unrenewed, the
brilliant rigor mortis of carotenoids, anthocyanins:
a deciduous lividity. Always, they depart before
the end, when the brown, crinkled ghosts of once
splendor, of "Quick, hun! Take a picture!" descend,
waiting to be burned or buried.