Photo by Jo N. Miles


 

Yakima Harvest, 1976 /25

 

I am pouring another drink

for for Nesario

whose eyes hold the bottle

like a thrown knife;

across the table,

out the open door

to the soft ground in the

orchard beyond.

 

It is late fall and

here in this time

at the end of harvest

the apples find us

alone together.

 

One room, but all we need

except Veronica, whose drink

Nesario has become as he

crosses for the door

two thousand miles to the south.

 

 

 25.

 



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