Ray Gonzalez

Fruit of the passion flower in a secret room.

It has been a long time since a theory of illusion

was accepted by blue herons flying over the city.


Fruit of the exchange sliced into pieces geometrically

entering the body, nourishing the migration of butterflies

to be studied, but not tracked down in time.


Fruit of the flower mistaken for angels

and troubled monks who lick their fingers

of the sticky substance, go on with their task


of converting magic into dogma, the juice

of the fruit gathering in clay jars to become

the ballad of the body they were warned about.


Fruit of the harvest given its seed, its ecstasy promising

nothing to those desiring more than the pickings from

a trembling branch with its holy hair of the invisible.


Fruit in lavender glass bowls armed with moisture

from the laps of windows, mistaken for the divinity

of prophetic apples, bitten into by ripe ghosts full


of oranges, lemons, and darkening bananas—

yearning passed beyond the evil waters found

in the crushed fruit, the disappointment of finding


the pulp is dangerous overcome by emptying it

into the open mouth, this communion

between the hummingbird and its one prayer.

Found In Volume 32, No. 05
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  • Ray Gonzalez
Ray Gonzalez
About the Author
Ray Gonzalez is the author of ten books of poetry and three collections of essays. His poetry has appeared in the 1999, 2000, and 2003 editions of The Best American Poetry (Scribners) and The Pushcart Prize: Best of the Small Presses 2000 (Pushcart Press). He is Full Professor in the MFA Creative Writing Program at The University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.