My eyes harvest color.
Paper-thin slivers
of purple cabbage
gleam, speckled
with Aleppo pepper.

Slabs of ruby beet
make labneh blush.
The burning bush
outside my window
blazes scarlet.

My crispers teem
with ombre leeks,
with wax peppers
in yellows and oranges
bright as tree-tips.

If I hold my breath
will time stop
on this hinge
between seasons?
But then

I wouldn’t get
to embrace you
again, or to hope
for what yet
might grow.