I wade into the thorny waters
to pick those plump rich berries
just a stretch away,
a scratch away, a curled hand,
two subtle fingers reaching up beneath a leaf,
the juice of picked berries staining
them, rich and red, purple in the shade....
I pick with either hand,
held in a cocoon of time,
lost in picking,
Lost in all the tangles of a life.
I eat a few; the juice exploding on my tongue.