Wild Plum

First the tight knots open,

a blur of lamb's wool

carded onto thorny branches.

Then the pale green, marble-sized fruit

that resists sugaring, followed by

a relenting, a gathering in

of what remains, the heartwood barely

pumping. To this pattern and color

we can add what is human:

ambition, beauty, cunning:

limbs spreading low to form a thicket

where saplings grow protected,

the shotgun strategy of a woman's perfume,

a ripeness weeping to be plundered,

and the long rest that follows love.

Later we can correct for the illusion,

the flowering plum not really

like a woman, its soft parts and scent

simply messages in the insect code

for here, sweet, willing.