In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

POKEWEED, PERSIMMONS i. You want them for your weaving, The bright tang of their dye, Want to slip your gloved hand down the clusters, Milking purple from the vibrant stems. Color is a fruit you gather Along the edges of dirt roads, The dusty acres of vanished corn. Strand after strand, you fill your jar with sunsets, Crownfire, the mortal blaze in the weeds. A vireo flies above you— Its eye bloodstone and berry and moving away, Smooth saucer to all that wine. ii. The cats are not persimmons and yet They share those qualities of placement And form Mu-ch’i gave to his lidded fruit. Weston’s peppers have it too, That swirl of weight and presence, As if the flesh were any surface Beauty gathered upon. Or in. The way, these mornings, light streams across 11 The two gray cats on our porch, And you, fresh from your shower, Step into the full sheen of that image You find gleaming within the glass. 12 ...

Share