Budding
In our neighborhood the Russian Olive
Is first to extrude its buds.
Along its slender branches, and at their tips,
Ten thousand tiny commas and apostrophes
Suddenly appear in March.
Within them,
Deep down,
Are ten thousand unborn berries
That burst out in tart profusion
For me to gather on a September stroll,
To make my lips pucker in delight.
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