when I was young
the poems
were there

I could
blindly reach out
pluck words
off the branches

juicy-sweet
crisp-tart
on my tongue

now the season's past
I grasp
the slender trunk
bark rough on my palms
and shake until
branches crackle
leaves whisper and sigh
in sympathy

just one more taste.

10/16/2003

Posted on 10/17/2003
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