I want to know
why
I love the sweet, broken ones
the sun
selects and burns away
segments
of the aggregate fruit
I cannot throw away
the last blackberry,
hold it, bleeding
in my palm.
ease away
the ruined drupelets.
guard
the raw remains
in my mouth
as if
my tongue
could heal a fruit of nature
loving, this way,
one isolated berry
could revive its far-gone cells
the renewal
of a berry
could take me home again
and make it good
this time.