Hope this is lighter than I've been writing

Beautiful imagery.  1st stanza:  outstanding.

2nd stanza:  another possibility:  
A hundred rock channels 
little eddies      exist as if from eternity  (I wonder if exist is right word? so scientific?
Holding the center of the rock ocean  (OR A tree    hung with twinkle lights  /holds the center of the rock ocean. )
is a tree      hung with twinkle lights


3rd stanza:  Oh, now I see why you used its.  Maybe your 2nd stanza is better than what I was thinking.  Though you could say:  Supple leaves...
Are leaves harvested?  Is that the exact word?  Maybe, just don't think about leaves being harvested. Does that mean they are mowed? or what?
I wanted it to say "awaiting /the moisture of snow." 


Last line hit me as a summary. Is that what you meant to do?  


It feels like I have said too much for loving the imagery so much.  
But I'd want you to pick mine to death.  I know it's your poem.  I leave it to you.   


Merry Christmas, and don't drink too much eggnog!   

I like each of the little changes and breaks. Naming the tree was a great choice.
Good sounds. 
Oh, So they are swept up to become compost. Nice... helping everything to continue.
Thank you for your patience with me.  

Pat

Pat

I appreciate your patience with ME.

I think your suggestions make the poem more accessible.

I was hoping "harvest" would suggest a symbol in the poem.  I thought about referencing the parable of the wheat and the tares.  

I had hoped the last line would press the reader to question who is composting:  leaves or reader?

Bless you

Todd

If you can figure a way to reference a scripture, do it, but this time  I thought of Zen and Japanese. 
It's almost like we become the journey.

What do the wheat and tares go with?  I mean environmentally? I remember the parable. Powerful scripture.  We are to let them grow together if they are already together.  Divide them later...at the harvest. Now, Todd, if you started a poem at the Harvest, you might also show the division.  I'm thinking of Ruth and Boaz, the winnowing of the wheat.  I think the wheat flies as it is winnowed.  Don't quote me on that.  Just remember a woman waving her arms with the winnowing, separating the wanted from the unwanted.  Tares get burned, right?  Maybe that is another poem for you.  This one is beautiful as it is.