Procession

Before the first frost
When the fruit
Hangs in anticipation

Retracted

Parasites eat deeply into the fat flesh of the tree bark

And an opera of birds

Chatter a chorus

A great, sonorous
Booming
Challenge

It reminded me
Of an olive tree that I saw
In Cyprus

Its ridiculous bough of nipples

Pale, withered

The seeds were the percussion
A black tambourine
Punctuating the silence

Of the cormorant

In the distance

I wished I could have placed my fingers around the pulp
Plucking at the veins
As I did

When I was a suckling