If a Leaf Falls

This poem represents a place I like to escape to in my mind when I am stressed. I remember writing it while under the influence of one of my favorite poets, T. S. Eliot, and some crazy desire to get something into iambic pentameter.
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A limestone boulder, chipped haphazardly

Across the face: the dead anti-crystal—

Lies buried by rotting peat and pine fur.

Beside it a brook of cold, black water

Passes like a fog across barren shards—

Progeny of the limestone boulder,

Strewn like a ruined city, twice destroyed

By violence and by flood, while brook trout

Prowl—phantoms of an aqueous desert,

Poking their snouts at the corporeal

Parts and celestial apertures of

Honey bees and dragon flies that once touched

Veins with strawberry blossoms and heart-shaped

Leaves, now gone cold—gold—quaking on the blanched
Bones of the aspens; but no one observed.