Every tree does shed its fruit

Dedicated to William Blake

In the dark passageway carrying the light
Aglow my cheeks a rose of pale opalescence
The globe in my hands, I whisper in the stillness
As though in but a second I could
Hear the humming of all creation

Small hands clasping the pitcher
Life flowing on the inside
Captivated and captured

Suddenly askance
In opposite directions turn
Face, hands, feet
Something or someone
Makes its way down the alleyway
Catching me by surprise

Surrounded by shadows
Looming and tall
The liquid spills, the flames roar
The whispers swish and swoon
Shutting me in their golden cage

With a shout I encompass myself
Held together by the magnificence
Of opposites without
I land on green grass

It is moist and while the early dawn rises
I contemplate that every tree does shed its fruit
Time passes and leaves wither and shrivel

The fruit I bore, in its arc of creation
Laid shining and dappled
Thrust out of springtime love
Lust, dew, music
And when summertime came
Shining in fullness
It hung resplendent on a leafy branch

Yet time, the mystery in its making
Has walked serendipitously forward
Falling into autumn
Leaving the skin to shed on my plate

Consumed by the law of matter
Metabolism, digestion, process
Serene and lonely
In the harvest hour
I lie with the fruits of my experiences
Chewed into decay and waiting to be
Transformed into winter thought
Unique and Eternal

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