trees (written during this morning's drive to work)

I shout "Yes!" to autumn morning light on autumn leaves,
lit up in cascades of burning,
glowing,
falling,
dying to the ground.

I shout "Yes!" to half-lit, tufted infernos waking up,
shaking off a cloak of frost-diamonds,
glistening like fresh-seen debutantes
announcing their finest hour.

And I don't believe in winter,
and I don't believe in death
when I taste the fire of their turning
at the drawing of each breath.