What is it?

No chasing,
imaginary
when the some was
gone...
rolling noisily to rest among
dry leaves
grass
worn away
untrodden in the center
of the triangle
thick again

When the sun was
straight or
leaning
tangle
of golden reflections

But now the sun
was slanting
in a tone shadows were
when they ought to be

mood of speculation
lit above or below

What was a face?
What was anything?