Fruits by Lawn

Fruits by Lawn


When he says Hell, and Fuck you, he does not mean
to fuck them, the man and the mare the man
holds by the martingale. He does not mean it is hell. How he avoids, wishes
himself elsewhere, like a thought when, in dream,
one recalls that memory we try--and have tried, continue--supressing.
What is the moon to the stars? What is the moon to the stars
if both hold the world?
Yes, that means they are hands. No. Fingers, maybe. It means there is a
God out there. No. God in plurals: Gods. It means earth is fruit. It means universe
is lawn. It means God is tree. By now, the wind has taken up. I know that
by the way the leaves dangle. There is a lawn,
and there is a tree. There are fruits.
They fall. Apples, oranges, plums,
all reddening / greening / lilac-ing the lawn.
Strewn, all over, past a ripeness, meaning there is no freshness:
only how they lay sprawled, dead, like stars on sky.
Visible, long after.