In the Produce Aisle

In the vivid red

of the fresh berries,

in the pebbled skin

of an emerald lime,

in the bright colors

of things made

to be transitory,

you see the same

loveliness

you find in your own

delicate flesh,

the lines fanned

around your eyes

charming like

the burnish

of plums,

your life like

all the other

fragile organics,

your soft hand

hovering over

the succulent apple,

you reach for it,

already transforming.