"We get it poets. Things are like other things." (tweet by Mike Ginn)
This apple is the red heart of the world,
world of weave and leaf lace knitted wool.
My Mint Chocolate Chip scarf becomes swirled
with your Raspberry Ripple in the cool
evening breezes, cotton sheets on skin;
skin, a manuscript in hieroglyphs,
windows into worlds beyond the bend
of time. And time itself is Sisyphus,
every morning once again the hill.
And hills are heights, are mind, are memory,
are widths in which the spinning world stills
and hangs ripe, a red apple in its tree.
A friend sent me an email this week containing the quote of the tweet above. I laughed on reading it and thought, yep, that pretty much sums up the machinery of poetry. This poem is a playful response in which I tried to create a "metaphor loop", a sequence of metaphors in which A=B, B=C, C=D and so on. My goal was to see if I could end up where I began, a kind of poetic transitive relation. It was fun to see how it all came together. As to meaning, I certainly did not start out with a message in mind, but I see all sorts of gems that can be teased out of poem that emerged (and that is the fun of poetry!)