a Cool apple

Silent,

A cool apple warming

On the kitchen counter, beside

The basil. Coffee steams,

And the dew mists from the lawn

In the morning sun.

We

Are one until we die;

Your breath, your scent.

I gather this morning light, our children,

You sleeping in my arms:

Fruit

Warming in a basket,

Light of a blessed sun.

-Michael forsyth