SUNDAY RERUN: The Taste of Figs

My Sunday ReRun for today is a poem I wrote and blogged on another site, back in 2002.

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The Taste of Figs

In the dead of winter he ate dried figs,
watching through windows where snowflakes settled,
and melted against transparent warmth.
He remembered the geese,
flying overhead, beckoning,
while he lingered,
Stayed.
Outside, the twilit air was suddenly
summer-scented.
An apple glowed, rose flame
under the frost.
And, alone,
I tasted figs.