pears appear rare
and, rarer, their table,
their chair, and this bowl
of aforementioned pears
how pronounced, seen whole.
[Paul's gift of a dried pear slice from Terrafina in Brooklyn was a revelation. Soft and thick, with a granular, chewy center, they contain real notes of pear on a backdrop of natural sweetness and vanilla. Thinking about how beautiful an experience eating one was, I was reminded of the above, imperfect poem from 1999. I still know what I was trying to get at, but it remains in revision (unlike the dried pears).]
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