We walk the obscure game path imprinted
By eternal hooves
pads and bellies
Basks on the furnace hot parched earth
For a moment tepid canteen water answers prayers
The clearing opens, bountiful tree
Teems with the susurration of starling wings
Our approach silences the avian jewels nestled in the tree necklace
the air resonates, genuflective,
Needful fingers reach the golden, virtuous fruit.
I pluck it.
— Ann Chiappetta