Still Life

The world only gives herself up to those who do not desire her.

I watch the fruit

ripening in the sun.

I watch it turn to pulp,

rotten with sensuality.

If I were attracted to the fruit

I would suffer.

If I were not attached

I would be indifferent.

But I see the fruit as it is,

beautiful in the first glint

of the morning light.

The faint fragrance of rot

stings the sky.

The fruit flies dance

like dakinis.