By Al Purdy
Destroyed stone house
There is an old apple tree.
Left there by the farmer
Other things he took with him.
It bears fruit every year.
Become crazy and corrupt
Use small bitter apples
Nobody eats.
Even children know better.
I passed that road on my way.
Go to Trenton twice a month.
The whole winter.
Notice that apples stick together.
Despite the hurricane
Sometimes covered with snow.
Xiaojingling
Maybe nothing else.
The traveler looked in that direction.
But I didn't compare them.
They're there, that's all.
For some reason, I have to remember.
Think of the bare trees.
And its fermented fruit
The week of late January
When the wind blows down the sun
The earth trembled like a cold room.
No one can live in it
Zero weather
Silent golden bells
Alone in the storm