That which is strawberry seeks you
have you slid from fixity.
That which is June and summer
will have you for its own.
The mysterious of replenishment
does not forget itself
despite neglect and abandonment,
but labors and files
along luxurious pathways
scooping abundance from abundance.
Take my hand, its champagne
ripely blueberry covening sunset,
sweet to the kiss of acknowledgement.
Bear with me wholly,
stone and spire, because by nature
I weigh heavy on time. I pierce
to let the nectar through,
the honey of it, the succulence,
that which is strawberry,
truth in the mouth.