Friday

Peary Gates of Glory




Six pears,

blushed red over yellow
straight stemmed, hand sized
carried back to the valley from

the city of the dead from which

not only have we returned intact
we are victorious, we have plundered
the magnificence of pear.

One of the six, through a bite,
through a lick, through the sugary
smack of a lip, have consumed me

as I, in turn, consume the day, also
blushed red over yellow and waiting

for rain.