On Wander Lane

Written by  Susan Sample

Behind me, leaves chime
as I hear cherries slipping through:
grace notes to dusk's denser tones.

Though later, on the final rise,
I spin around as something sounds:
an apple from the neighbor's tree?

The moon shines pale
on an asphalt sky. And I
must decide: leave it?

Or take it home
and slowly slice the unripe
flesh sideways, so I can see

another sky
seeded with dark stars--

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