a plateful of citrus fruit
sits flush on the smooth
tan table,
like happy fat heads
convened for the quiet,
speaks a tart tongue
of tasting
and waking,
tingling
what’s fresh
today
for the taking
and making,
these orange
and yellow
orbs and one
ancient
brown brush
create a bright
lush painting:
seven or eight
contemplative
planets
at play
in a pig-pile
of colorful
prayer.
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