apples after rain

an apple is not

an apple
is not a summer fruit

it promises winter
and the hardening of leaves
to fall

cool symmetry
you are

flecked and reflecting
like the bent rim
of a chromium sky

folding in towards the west,
and gold

apple
you are an afterthought

rising like laughter
with the sun's sweetness
inside your skin

apple, you are in my hand
promising winter
ands a season of dreams

summer in Boiceville NY

sending you clouds

sending you clouds
and the high tinted sunlight
that carves them into palace walls

sending you shadows
and the wind that shreds them
into fringes of silver

sending you tunnels of mist
doors of coral
where birds slide through
like minnows

and here, fierce arrows
welding the earth to the sky

a sound, deep in the throat
calling as thunderheads
split and collide

sending you blue
and the colors that hide
in my hands

sending you clouds