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
seeded with dark stars--