.MTQ1Mw.MTI2MDQw

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Text is upside down


The Last Peach My ladder leaned at sunset's ruddy roof when it was touch and go if I could pluck (in a moment before the first black frost) just short of my grasp as I gambled limbs, the tree's and mine, to claim that classic fruit a season had ripened for me, I figured, reaching up and up for that nubile flesh,

to meet the pinhead gaze of a golden bee tentacled tight to peach's solar check, forager's last flight from a storeyed hive, astronaut on asteroid, frozen to attention--- icy air arriving wave on wave, congealer of planets, guardian of vagrant galaxies while I puffed steam pinioned under stars as I pondered a peach's cooling globe. Charles Miller (a recent poem, in tune w/ the Times!)

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