the days we live

  

.

From blossoms comes

this brown paper bag of peaches

we bought from the joy 

at the bend in the road where we turned toward 

signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands, 

from sweet fellowship in the bins, 

comes nectar at the roadside, succulent

peaches we devour, dusty skin and all, 

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside, 

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into 

the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live 

as if death were nowhere

in the background; from joy 

to joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom to 

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

—Li-Young Lee

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