Sunday, 15 July 2007


This fall
give me
three yellow quinces
from your tree

offer the fruit
between red palms
rub the bloom
beneath your thumbs

warm the flesh
with your fingertips
ripen the core
the black uneven pips

persuade the scent
of paradise
to linger on
the city skies

give me
one bitter taste
I'll not endure
december's waste

this winter
forgive me
three quinces stolen
from your tree