Anjou Gems

Cupped in parchment,
reproductive parts
open shamelessly
to bumblebees,
and the chances in
pear-honey afternoons.
After dark,
as though, they’ve
captured light,
flowers cluster, ghostly
poised on branches,
mimicking the vernal,
sugared moon.

Summer charcoals in
the dusk,
sketches gestured
orchard wood against
the smoldered cinder
dropping from a day;
catches pollinated
silhouettes within
the swaying
lacquered leaves,
still camouflaged by
canopy displays.

Autumn cools the
fruit in shades of
burgundy, full
ovaries now pulling
on the limbs.
The syncopated
fall of sweetness
wrapped around a seed,
releases trees
to climb from earth again;
my brazen crimson,
fecund, Anjou gems.


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