To The One That Never Was

duck-face

You the apple in the grape orchard
That chews a part of me

Still.

Like the lost wreck below many nautical miles
That holds a finder’s treasure
Ingots of carats that could make me exalt in joy
Or surrender in a kiss

And you, in the fogged and misted orchard
Who holds the aspirations of my lips
The lass, who lingered never to become an antique
Who still makes a curio, a sought-after object
To the collector’s eye

And you, who were overridden all your life
Even vetoed from choice, I tell you this…..

Still your music leaves an unassailable presence
The autumn hears you too well

And the apple magnifies
Right in front of my eyes.