Figs grown fat with flesh
split open offering up
themselves like ripe lips.
Words quickly noted
hint toward more than a meaning
that memory can know.
Hunger drives us on
to speak, to savor the fruit,
to trust the mythos:
a date, an apple
a fig just beyond our grasp
which we cannot name.
Seeds cling to the sticky flesh;
a warm undulant silence.
(July 16, 2023)
subtext 