Oh what rounded succulence lies
in the swelling belly
of tree-filling apples surprisingly
girthed overnight.
Each plump world of green-juiced
abundance readies
itself for hide, fur, feather, human
or worm consumption.
Turning to sun for reddening stain
they begin to cascade
from creaking branches over-laden
with Julying ripeness.
And I look for a wind-fall to chance
biting into sour-sweet
rind before horses or starlings clamp
jaws or beaks to crunch
and stab at orchard's bubbling drops
of easy bounty
before autumn damp sheds the crop.
