You would think they would fix the formatting for poetry so that it could be moved away from the left margin…no.  Concept foreign…..






I wanted something of morning

To hold in my hand

And there were small plums,

Underfoot, all over the yard


Filled with morning’s warmth

The promise of sweetness

More than sweetness itself,

A kiss, rather than the feast

it could be to lie

in the  bread-warm arms

Of a lover


While morning steals away

To its autumnal distance,– that freize

Of centurion trees, the glowing hands

of  wide spinning leaves

and then honeyed light

over the head of a girl

in a red sweater


More plums, please. I shake the tree

for the fruit I am eager to eat,

the celluloid ribbon of old fears

falls away–


I had been trying to cut out

The sadness there, edit

The film that too starkly

shows forth a life

When flavor burst in my mouth

And the o of delight

That lives at the back of my throat

Pierced the air.