Earl the donkey
in a fit of gluttony
ate all the sweet purple
cactus fruit,
fruit we had hoped
to savor ourselves
this very evening.
But it is gone now
for another season,
like the peach
that falls before the squirrel,
and the fig inside which
the worm burrows,
warm and content.
Every creature drawn
to sustenance,
according to its hunger
or its passion.
Every morsel brought forth,
given meaning,
in this
our season of plenty.