(Sun Series #10)
In the cool of the morning, On a trip into town, She handed me a pomegranate From the blue bowl on her desk. I drove way out back To the old cottonwood tree — The massive one, with branches broken, Heavy with mistletoe. I held the fruit in my hand; It felt good like a baseball. As I split it open, My thoughts turned to you, My dear… My thoughts turned to you.