American Sycamore by Gary Grossman

It is a ghostly obelisk of a tree,
breathless among the paused
leafless gray soldiers of the forest.
Post and water oaks, shagbark
and mockernut hickories, red and
chalkbark maples, and silverbells.
So many trees hold up the cobalt
southern sky.

White on white echoes through
the Georgia woods in January
and the visual music pulls my eyes
back to the solitary sycamore, trunk
shedding a few last puzzle pieces
of elderly taupe bark.

Forty-nine years ago I met the
companion who now walks beside
me on the trail—today we are
the wrinkled, white-barked, trees
of the town.

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Gary Grossman is Professor of Animal Ecology at University of Georgia. His poems have appeared/are forthcoming in 25 reviews, and in 2021/2 his work may be found in: Verse-Virtual, Poetry Life and Times, Black Poppy Review, Trouvaille Review, MacQueen’s Quinterly Poetry Superhighway, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Knot, and Last Stanza Poetry Review. Hobbies include running, music, fishing, gardening and cooking. Bio and writing at www.garygrossman.net and https://garydavidgrossman.medium.com/ respectively.