Crabapple holding in arms
what almost has
vanished,
selvage and leaf-lavish open.
Pumpkin seed in the hand,
lick the salt after.
What remains, after.
Bowl fill with woodpecker’s shavings of cedar.
Door of the beak, release attic.
Voice remain fragrant.
Love hold the lungs again open.
By the bed, here.
By silence and whiteness,
by staying.
Carved scent of orange-oil, open.
By rise of the woodpecker’s question,
of crabapple fruiting,
clasp now this room that is given.
Open with flood what is given,
once again fragrant and here.