From Seeds

I saw the sap rise through sun and thaw,
watched April's blooms unfold
in pale rows of snow or stars
and lure bees to the gala of pollen,
gold for honey
in the spring's first yield.

A tree must grow years
before it can bear.
Now branches bend low
with constellations of fruit
hanging round and red
as the other side of truth.

In the crisp flesh,
the secrets of juice
mingle with history,
long in the tooth,
of how what was forbidden
could become a cure.