Persimmon Tree by Alexis Rotella


It stands in the fog
like a wizard
whose black
claw-like branches
have long long leaves.
I’ve never touched fruits
as soft as new-moon breasts,
miniature replicas of sunsets
glued in place by one
who has mastered youth
many times.

A crow watches
as I lift a sphere
from a limb,
unscrew the olive-green cap.
Like an infant
I suck and suck
its orange light
then hang on a crag
its empty
orange sack.

Alexis Rotella
from Camembert Comes from the Sea, White Peony Press


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