Blackberry

from Field Stones
by Robert Kinsley

To come down to the taste of blackberry,
on a day the color of straw late summer,
bright sun, heat rising around you,
is to know something of the beginning and
the end, whose leafy stems prick and bite,
the way years from now the needle will,
in your arm, in the vein,
in the constant flux of the blood,
the way the wind blows just now,
when you taste for a moment the sweetness
of blackberry, mixed with your own blood,
and you know with all certainty the minglings
of the world, oh such fine and delicate fruits.