Eating Pears

Juices flow crossed my chin
as thoughts tangle with
a napkin.

My spine feels all four elements
of this fine earth,
I sit silently
eating a pear
as the wolves walk past
my porch.

Fearing nothing
while eating fruit-
listening to melodies
that were written for the sun
and midnight.

I scatter words crossed my palm
because later those vocabulary
seedlings will sprout into trees,
rows of trees
filled
with
poetry.

Pears, maple,
apples and cherries.

Summer poetry
becomes a sin-

excuse me
while I wipe
the juices
away, before
the ink starts
to smudge...