For J.T.E

we have fruit in a bowl
sweet, like that summer Harlem sway.
it is hot out and the stove is lit
    Hail Mary Full Of Grace
we eat the fowl with a
  wedge of bread
    The Lord Is With Thee!
and the air is still, like
  a hundred year drought.
and we have jam in the jar
        the color of a Nashville dawn.
and we rush through the tree-line and
into the wood
      to watch the birds peck
the devil's chin
    while the
    clothes still hang on the line
and our hips don't yet know
    how to aim.