Not the destination
an ancient walled town
or the journey
but the roadside stall
where we stopped
in wavy summer heat
plums and apricots
warmed by noon
lightly dusted from cars
that had passed before
and how sweetness hung
in the air
as though the trees
that carried them
circled us
still heavy with fruit
and how we arrived
our arms already full
trailed by the scent
of what brought us here
of what we’d surrendered
on the way
First appeared in The Comstock Review, Spring 2022
