If this apple had known

If this apple had known

last summer

when a tense

crescendo

of cicadas

and crowcall

sent a shiver

of suspense

through the orchard—

     What comes next?—

If this apple had known then

about the

rapturous

arousal

of oven love,

the union

of cinnamon

and butter,

and the 

rounding embrace

of crust

like a

snowfall of

sunlight,

If this apple had dreamed

of translation

upward

into the

brightness

of my ecstasy

at breakfast

on a blustering

winter

morning,

perfected,

Would it ever

have feared

the fall

so much?