Silver buckets hang from maples lined
along dirt roads, stone walls, orchards spent.
Slow taps drip on sunny days just before
spring, a labor from tree to tree intent
on gather and empty. Endless wood
fires stoked night and day boil down
gallons of sap until proclaimed good.
Transubstantiation, a heavenly brown.
 
On earth a sweetness hard won
can cost too much; we stand
to lose it all if balance of cold and sun
slows the flow, forced to settle for bland
and scant. Amber fools, willing
to toil for each drop, dear and thrilling.


From Leaving Paradise (Human Error Publishing, 2022).
Used here with permission.