The Peach Poem by Michael Galvin

At the cardium of the fruit
a shape with praying hands tears the flesh
to the fibres in the pit.
Emptying the crimson ditch of its stone
sprinkles purple on the shirt.

Living within a globe of real things,
dreaming of real things, the days drop
in toil evading toil's giving.

Your peace, your presence,
flowers in the damages, gently debriding
countless wounds of defence.
So painful - such completely given love.

I close my eyes. You are where
I cannot see, nor seeing, deny.