March 12, 2009
The unripe peach
is reborn each day, not
from the laboring tree, but from
the ground

as if
it were not a peach at all,
but a yam
sneaking through the topsoil.

Some call it the sun;
few call it the star

that guides the lone wolf
to his pack so that
his teakettle calls may end
at day break

when the rest of the world prepares
to cleanse itself in the lathered
peach fuzz
of the morning starlight.

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mummy said...
Apr. 1, 2009 at 12:28 pm
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