Slanting1 light casts onto a stucco wall
the shadows of upwardly zigzagging2 plum branches.
I can see the thinning of branches to the very twig3.
I have to sift4 what you say, what she thinks,
what he believes is genetic5 strength, what
they agree is inevitable6. I have to sift this
quirky and lashing7 stillness of form to see myself,
even as I see laid out on a table for Death
an assortment8 of pomegranates and gourds10.
And what if Death eats a few pomegranate seeds?
Does it insure a few years of pungent11 spring?
I see one gourd9, yellow from midsection to TOP
and zucchini-green lower down, but
already the big orange gourd is gnawed12 black.
I have no idea why the one survives the killing13 nights.
I have to sift what you said, what I felt,
what you hoped, what I knew. I have to sift
death as the stark14 light sifts15 the branches of the plum.