“Have some faith,” he offers, extending a marigold basket,
Is it round and white and spongy? I ask
“And sticky and drips from trees.”
Is it brittle and lined and aged? I ask
“And soaked in delta waters.”
Is it gnarled and craven and smiling? I ask
“And gurgles on its deathbed.”
Is it close and warm and vicious? I ask
“And lives in your childhood dreams.”
Vox populi