A French monk wipes
the shell of an egg
on the serge of black.

He walks slowly
in sandaled feet
across the cloister,
his shadow following
close behind.

I pick apples
from the apple trees
in the abbey orchard,
my fingers twisting
as I'd be shown

-she mouthed
my fingers
one by one,
******* them
to a strawberry ripeness-

Dom Leo takes
the breviary
from the shelf
beside his hip,
opens to the right page,
eyes scanning
the script

- I watched her
as she slowly stripped.