A branch scrapes, reiterative
in some measure, a message
unrecognized or

recognized, the skin bruised
pulled back on the
hands, bluish against

the overall pale white
white, quite. And beside
the hands the apothecaries

in varied jars and
the fruit also bruised
in the indifferent light.

Allowing for rhythm,
a tranquil scene
seemingly say-

ing love and in
any event live in
whatever time there may

be.