The Equinox Poem by Jaye Renke Vogts

In cryptic intervals
the apples untether their
summer grip and
drop.
Hard and fierce as hail stones.
Waking me.
Unsettling the dusts
that gather and blanket
everything.
The season now passing,
was merciful
with its monsoons
and super moons.
It allowed the flesh
of the tomatoes
to tenderize.
It swelled their skins
to bursting.
As my body aching from
abstention.
I put my mouth to them,
as I would have
the kamikaze apples
had they not
bruised
and began to rot.
With my bite,
a red gush.
With my bite,
a renewal.
With my bite,
the salted memory
of your flesh,
or someone’s…
anyone’s.
With my bite,
a moltenly change
occurring
with only my hands and fingers.
Only my breath
matched by my breath,
every passing season
for so, so long.