On the First Cold Morning

On the first cold morning I walk
Through the crinkly decadence of trees
Heaped into bags
Like the papers of an old professor
Who has died
Obscurity
profanity
and ingenuity all together
Fit only
In the end
For love
Or burning

After a while I pass a
A mother with a bicycle
And two children
That she tries to keep from freezing
And a woman with a coffee cup
And roses in her garden
That she tries to keep from freezing

And I think as if for the first time
That trees die in winter
From yearning for the sun