Kerri Shying R #404 - There is no death

There is no death

drying the winter melon

see there   falling

in  the sucked-up cheeks

of elders   reclining on the carport roof

in sunshine  

let the hard skin hold the seeds

  lubricious capsules

shrink   by the day

in those hours of the sun

held away

from the beaks of the teenage crows

the noisy gangs  of minors 

cracking safes  and pumpkins

through the autumn 

the winter melon   waits