Riddle in the Garden

My mind is intact, but the shapes

of the world change, the peach

has released the bough and at last

makes full confession, its pudeur

had departed like peach-fuzz wiped off, and

We now know how the hot sweet-

ness of flesh and the juice-dark hug

the rough peach-pit, we know its most

suicidal yearnings, it wants

to suffer extremely, it

Loves God, and I warn you, do not

touch that plum, it will burn you, a blister

will be on your finger, and you will

put the finger to your lips for relief—oh, do

be careful not to break that soft

Gray bulge of blister like fruit-skin, for

exposing that inwardness will

increase your pain, for you

are part of this world. You think

I am speaking in riddles. But I am not, for

The world means only itself.