Leaf Mounds

Do the trees cry when they
look down at their November feet?

If I saw a pile of my pieces,
I would do more than inhale
the neighbors' pollution and 
exhale clean air.

Maybe that's why the sky grays:
someone has to mourn, 
give wet alms,
and cloudy condolences
to the stoutest members 
of this apathetic asphalt strip.