imagination says in time everything becomes
something else
an apple
sits by my window
for 300 years
one day a woman
takes a bite and
a flock of birds
takes off
it becomes wine
for a monk or the beginning
of an orchard
its life is yours
but has happened as
if in translation
a few steps
from the vertebrate
before you ever
really got to
eat that
apple.
-
this apple
might scent your
grandmother's skin
at her wake
nervously you
memorize your furniture
as if each piece were a
passenger
on some final
voyage west, straight
into the sunset
of your imagination
the corners
we most live
in crumble
alas some places
are too small
for apples.
-
once in holland
I saw a painting
of an apple
now some nights
I hang myself on the
wall like a painting
and wait
for a power
greater than
sleep to take
me to my
orchard.