leaves on cherry tree
hang limp. spent
from hot light,
a season’s work
of crimson swollen fruit
that fueled for a day that
raucous band of gypsy thief crows
now gone, marauding elsewhere
while the gentle deer
nuzzle the sweetening apples,
waiting
for their taste
of the hot light
in the coming
cold
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem is included in The View from Lummi Island.
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