I’m grateful to Nature
for making the strawberries red.
They’re so much easier to find that way.
Same thing with the tomatoes:
Parting a thicket of fragrant leaves,
I spy them, slick with the rain that will be
their ruin if I don’t harvest today.
It’s like reaching into another dimension,
up to my shoulder, nose pressed against
the hairy stems. Fingers stretching
to cup the red and yellow globes
filled with seeds, as sweet
and acid as love.