Stone Fruit

I found myself astonished on my walk today

Using the excuse of needing to lock the gate

To take the three mile hike, to a known border and back

And just as I had almost arrived

At my task

I saw upon the ground, mottled with leaves,

Deeply graveled and wet with rain

The dusky globe of purple fruit

Glowing

I paused, and let my eyes adjust to the presence

Of the utterly unexpected

And there they were in abundance

So many surprises seem singular

Until the eye is trained to see them and can perceive their infinity

Plums

The word damson, unused in my speech sprang to mind

(It was not the variety, but the word had a rightness to it, ornate as it is)

I cut one open to smell, the sharp tart tang

Tasted it

And asked aloud

“Who’s got plums?”

(Of the trees, one must assume)

As if playing Who Knows One

Or asking a friend for a pen, or a light

And I looked up and saw

A tree I’d never noticed before, slender, but studded and stippled with fruit

I think of another poem about God (Briefly it Enters, and Briefly it Speaks)

When I lock the gate

Because the chain is worn smooth with love and the lock is heavy with it too

I am the stone step, the latch and the working hinge

Let me not only lock out my fear, I pray

Let me too lock in my own capacity for wonder

Let me keep this safe, this sweetness

Let me share it when I can