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.

————————————–

John Muro called us from Guilford, CT.

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