By Charles M. Sumid     Copyright 2025     Written 2012

All week the birches have been letting go.
Not like maples
with their grand announcement.

These small yellow coins
slip one at a time
while no one watches.

Yesterday, half-dressed.
Today, three branches wholly bare.
I wasn’t there
for the moment
they gave up their last hold.

By the mailbox,
leaves the color of old letters
gather in corners
the wind forgot.

Soon just white bark
against gray sky.
The neighbors won’t notice
when it happens.

Even I will wake one morning
and wonder when.