Between the Limbs, Peaches


His limbs changed trees and he crossed over,

as I can remember, and with his falling in mind.


Before he stunted, I had no name for him;

I've no names in solitude to spare,

but he made a short leap,

and I found with him a name in a sister's shout,

as he wavered his young arms and fell

through the arms to the soft fruit graveyard.


She sat him forward and stuck her arms

to the shoulders in his gasp.

He gagged for air, heaving pink pains

in air the trees got rid of.


His name was Danny.  Danny fetching peaches.



- Ray Succre