Near Positano by John Muro

Shouldn’t I have known,

Reaching moonwards,

Weak in the knees,

Heart in free-fall,

That it would come down

To this?

Abandoned beneath a

Bonfire of bougainvillea,

Air scented with honey

And crushed almonds,

A golden hinge

Of late afternoon light

Closing just above

The cliff-face and the

Torch-lit bay of heather-

Blue water where, the day

Before, beneath a brittle

Ribbon of sunlight, you

Wondered aloud about

The elusive bird’s heart-

Broken song and how

It seemed to be

Giving away pieces

Of itself or,

More likely, seeking

To weather a world

Given to betraying those

Of us who leap heart-

First before rising

In petal-fall.

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A life-long resident of Connecticut, John is a graduate of Trinity College, Wesleyan University and the University of Connecticut. His professional career has been dedicated to environmental stewardship and conservation. In the Lilac Hour, his first volume of poems, was published last fall by Antrim House, and it is available on Amazon. John’s poems have been published or are forthcoming in numerous literary journals, including Moria, Euphony, The French Literary Review, River Heron, Clementine Unbound, Third Wednesday, In Parentheses and elsewhere.