In a White China Bowl
Cloudy skinned, the taste
of verga in the night sky.
Tiny seeds
like secret wishes we hide
in tender underbellies.
Blueberries.
My tongue explores the five-pointed
crown where your blossom used
to hang, crater of sweetness.
Last night after rain, I served you,
dessert to dinner guests--
a Portuguese painter and a children’s author--
nestled between kiwi fruit, red raspberries,
a splash of orange liqueur.
But it was you, elegant queen
from bog and bush, that lit
their eyes with stars. Your gift,
the size of moments
slowed in a cool autumn evening.