Strangling Fruit
(For A. M.)
And her name is full of fire
everyone is hiding in her branches
there in time to dissolve--
the prayer introduces us all
players on a board shake hands with their swords
and all the flora cellar-aged must of creation hides, masquerades, shrinks its all into an unremarkable stone until
the perfumed gardens make orchards, walls highest at sunset
we are all tender for a moment we are all
more than alive
how the wind will make the simple New England church dresses wink hanging loose on the mother's bones, each gust a bride
pinched from the stem, every smile dripping with the fruit
fermented, we become its version of
a single stone, the must of creation does not wait, rather remains still
sharing its secret with baffled water flowing in the steam
not at all anxious to awaken the war of their dream
not at all anxious,
more than alive