Cider Fruit

Round, rusty red and hanging,

Mocking science, rendering Newton absurd

Swinging steadily in the stillness

This seed of clay, enslaving

Time and absorbing what

Others pass over

A skin, weather-raddled and

Scraped, each concrete scar, each

Bite of Eve’s teeth, etching

A lost topography,

An ancestry of gnarled barks

And inadequate limbs

Succumbing to densities they

Could not comprehend nor

Sustain

Fall now and sleep…