justwrite 30 august

i have fed myself on illusions,
grown fat
peaches in the orchard ripen,
fall
i want freshness
fill first a half-peck box
another
reach for all i can
simulating stimulating hunger
flat separate gray
i reach into the scene
curves rosy to the sun
a heavy box,
two
quiet thickens around me,
fuzzy, bright
sun in the branches
i will find the right one
one to carry close
before the tractor returns
the soft thud-- too late

there is no need to apologize in this place
nothing i could do would storm,
break roots
the space i carry with me melts a little

more to say
in layers
flavors of confusion
illusions pushed away, clinging back

soon it will be apples
gala on the pickyourown hotline
pick your own
response
reaction
selected retractions
baked into a pie
no tapioca
streaming hot juice spilling out