You Make Me Bloom

Erich von Hungen

As you pass, my branches reach.
I throw apples round your feet.

You make me bloom
and sweeten into them —
into them and more.
Stop, stop and eat.

I see you,
and I scatter oranges out of season,
scented swags every day.

My fingers turn to figs,
when you approach softly singing —
to berries,
to pomegranates.

For you,
I am a garden.
Stop and pick.
Stay.
Take my shade, at least that.

Cut your name across my skin.
Climb my branches.
Feel the wind.
Hear it rhythm with my twigs.

Let me feed you.
Stay, stay, remain
within the canopy
of my arms, my shoulders
and make me flourish, flower, bloom.
Make me blossom
more and more.