Little Harm

Alive on the branch figs are heavy with water
But when fallen disappear into mulch
Taut like skin or topsoil, gravitational brush
At meadows’ border under the cool white slab
Of salt collected as in the bottom of the crispcurl
Of aurous new sage, of grass-newness and afternoon
A burlap sack bulging where auroras meet twilights and
Reassemble desiring
The sensual-plum, the apple-toothhold of
Earth swum to shore, spit out from
Pooled-eddy of ocean aromatic, out from the clavicle
Covered in pelt, fallen as snowmelt
From whiskertips’ surfacing beast of water, cresting
Bird of rind, crown of song dimmed
By the menagerie of possible endings, electric
In character now footsteps see tears, tears touch the maw of
Figs, fruit tastes the breath quietly pacing
In welkin clear of foam and beasts, of multitude of
Berries dropped in streams. How can you fill your
Closed palm with rain. .Or remove
The loving arrow
Which has its shaft of poison.

Youna Kwak