High Fruit

Bright fruit,
I would pluck you
from the reachless branch,
siphon pale
your incandescent orb

unclustered, you’d rise
and do, up through far
shuddering sweet gum tips.

I would have you
golden full, my hands
wrapped blue and lips
on orchid faded sky.

Refection’s face
in candle round, ardent
lobe and lucent light,
say you are more

than moon. I have mistaken
you for fruit, feasting
high with Venus.

About janehewey

https://janehewey.wordpress.com/ View all posts by janehewey

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