THE BELLS OF SUMMER

Stand under the pear tree, look up
through its tracery of branches. The sky
winks in triangles of light and pears
hang like bells chiming summer’s
green sweetness.

Dare to cut the dense skin, feel the syrupy
white flesh as it glides over your tongue
and the juice that trickles down your chin.

Forget about napkins and stains on your shirt.
Gather the bliss of summer’s bounty into
your mouth, swallow what’s left before

autumn arrives, shakes out its apron
of flamboyant leaves, trying to trick you
into thinking it has something better to offer.

Appears in The Language of Tides.