APPRISAL

by John Muro

Following a low stone wall and ice-studded scrub

partitioning a slope that spills into the poverty

of near-winter woods where all seems pinned

to silence and the heart momentarily falters before

it eventually expands as my steps press against

tufted needles of pine then pausing to drink in

the air’s sweet elixir of musk and milled timber

as filtered light trickles from somewhere beyond

the canopy towards a floor of copper filaments

glazed with frost and sunlight and the eye can’t help

but to trace them back through the dark tangle

of overhead limbs suggesting a possible passage-

way towards heaven when a sudden breeze turns from

its sleep and gestures for the heart and soul to follow.