Hidden Apple Tree

The Hidden Apple Tree is a poem of generosity, gratitude, and of the feeling I get when I see fruit because I'm in love with fruit. Forever... Always...

Wooden boat on dry sand,
Shoveled slightly into earth.
Humid breeze rocking way
Into a man's dirty, linen shirt.

Birds chirping good morning
To a lonely island of one.
No clocks exist;
For time persists itself only by the sun.

A maple tree stands silently
On the edge of the open beach,
Which is lined by a forest
With gentle, foreign beasts.

The man moves from side to side,
The wind gentle with his aching eyes.
Asleep as an apple falls
One hundred feet from where he lies.

Random patches of white light
Feed as stones to the hungry forest.
A fox scurries from one golden tree to the next,
As a bumblebee colors the ground like a florist.

Weak and dreaming of that juicy bite,
His eyes open to the yellow smells of sea.
A growl empties the mucus from his stomach,
And he turns onto his starving belly.

His neck stretches up
And his scratches grow redder.
His weary eyes pop open
Once the trees faintly sever.

A white light is shined upon a red piece of fruit
And the man starts to cry,
For he found the luscious loot.