She brought me a cardboard square
from the farmer’s market—

fruit box with a wire handle.
I had wanted it for some other

purpose: desk caddy, mail sorter,
if only for the ghosts of pear

or peach or apple. Mellow skins,
stippled rinds of citrus

—ripe summer smells
teetering on the edge of fall.


In response to small stone (143).

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