Magnifera

Magnifera

Magnifera

Ripeness was a semitone below
the bone clef of the elbow
 
keying the rain-slicked
cyclone fence: the firm, saclike rind
 
of a warped minim, golden
drupe note for which we longed.
 
Stone fruit are fine tutors.
This one unseals a sensual nose hit.
 
At dusk they go lambent
like chunks of bent gloam.
 
Sucked, their fibrous pith
is birth-pouf — 
 
punk oblong pits
belonging in a goblin’s pot,
 
infused with rich static
and the fresh electric scratchiti
 
of summer lightning. It’s fortune
gave us this softer unit,
 
surely. Edgewise the frangipani
made a rain-gap fin
 
for heads rife with fire
in the shade of the mango belt.