I have a new head doesn't know how to...
gawks at golden pears, plucks him a loner,
chews on that barely-edible, crisp flesh,
squints at a broad rainbow clearing the roof
of Romanian neighbor's council-house,
forgets to munch for a few seconds... ah.
Though fine drizzle patters his felt hat,
sun dazzles, a flickering projector
through a whole tree of dark, maple leaves
while midges cavort under their shelter.
What apples are not picked are worlds in grass
but for one high cluster blushing apart.
Of what it all means he has no import -
there are no flashbacks; and it doesn't hurt.
