by John Muro
How their branches seem
to extend without burden
in the lengthening light,
their star-shaped leaves
of deepest burgundy,
weightless, more form
than texture, surrendering
to autumn air in such a way
that it’s difficult to discern
where leaf-tip ends and
shade begins; until, wind-
jostled, they flutter like
wisps of cordovan dust
out into a blue expanse
of emptiness – traversing
the chasm between having
been and soon becoming –
showing us a way forward,
letting go without regret
or anguish, and knowing
this world will be made
whole again from those
very things that have
been taken or freely given.
A resident of Connecticut and a lover of all things chocolate, John Muro has authored two volumes of poems — In the Lilac Hour and Pastoral Suite — in 2020 and 2022, respectively. His third volume, A Bountiful Silence & Other Poems, will be published next year. John’s a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of the Net Award nominee and a 2023 Grantchester Award recipient. His work has appeared in Acumen, Barnstorm, Delmarva, Moria, Sky Island, Valparaiso and elsewhere.
This poem previously appeared in Sky Island Journal.