next year, perhaps...

The apricots were bursting,

the tree, in its second year, bowed,

as if the gods were passing,

under the weight of tiny gold and orange suns —

the expanding universe fathomed

in the corner of a suburban backyard.

Then rain came, unseasonal, violent;

my watering mouth dried

as I watched those golden orbs

suffer in the rain, their bright fires

extinguished and they fell

one by one, rotting and useless…

This is how the universe ends —

with stars falling
into the rich loam of missed opportunities.