Incomprehensible Poem

Sound, both harsh and sweet and something about fruit. That’s what you’ve gotten so far, but you’re only halfway though. Something in another language—two lines, no more. Something with a line though the O. You sound it out. The wind shifts. Bellowing. Something about sewing scissors. A cloth cut on the bias. Something broken followed by a color. Try harder, you think. The fricatives nod their agreement. The little slashed Os stare back heavy-lidded from the page.