to Yellow Plum (in blue
china bowl):
afternoon's slit of sun slips
between thick curtains
& woos you to ripeness.
it chooses you
not for flecks of honey-russet
held low in your seam of shadows,
nor your symmetry & swell;
but because
you slink in shade, sink
behind green pear & clementine
& cannot hide
from each spear of light
that ricochets
through--
even now
nested warm
against these lips
even now:
a tea-stain stone
hugging close
the trashbin floor.








