The first thing I want to do
When this oven summer cools a bit
Is cut out those three dead branches
From our old pomegranate tree
And trim the suckers from its trunk
So we can see its true stature
Come winter when its leaves are gone
A few shriveled fruit hanging on
While it plunges deeper into the ground
Eating its way to where I imagine
The secret of flowering is found
And carried back up to the sun
Staring back in our faces
Breathless as any newborn thing
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