Today's poem is by John Pursley III

Untitled Interior

The grapefruit tree has died.
But it isn't that.

Each leaf falling—stem-end
Over blossom. Pad

To slats. Cheap pine.
Pianissimo. As if there isn't air.

Isn't water. Lightly, lightly.
Enough to say this.

This. This, the one dead note.
Held like a stuck key.

Copyright © 2005 John Pursley III All rights reserved
from Center
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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