Apple Tree
mobile of the delicious,
as if i were a marionette,
dangled from a handhold,
even does and cubs
tugged from the forest
for a taste of succulent theater:
August’s
living golden buzzing robe,
winesap- and pixie-dappled,
cox’s orange and dorsett,
honeybee-drenched,
each orb a blush toward evening,
more buxom than twilit Venus,
or a lunar floribunda.
who wouldn’t fixate
on the gifts of dance
arrayed over the decades,
centuries, too?
are we not swept up
by the minuet of airy seconds,
graceful boughs
in waltz with arms of breeze?
does it not captivate us,
make our hearts whirl?
===================================
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment