A glassblown apple
Built with my own breath,
Absolutely clear
With refraction betraying structure,

But a hell of a hassle
To carry to death,
It shatters more readily
Than amnions rupture,

So,

I am forced to conclude
That mine is missing the years
That dotted the mighty fruit
That I liken to constellations,

But unless I am *****
My teeth and fibers make tears
So to preserve the jute
I stare at red contemplation.