An orchard down the block
Held mats of fog
Beneath its apple trees,
The volted fence excited
In the burms around its edge,
And we’d pick longer
Blades of grass
To make a show of nerves
We found that day
In cigarettes and cursing.

But the apples,
They just watched,
And from the branches
Filled the breeze
With rawness til they fell
To make the mud.

How thick the fog laid sometimes,
And how vividly it stung.
And in another year
The apple trees would fruit
Again and fall.

#Anchorage #Alaska

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