on the rooftop
one of those endless industrial
flats from before the ashes fell
beneath layered debris kicked aside
they lay like old squashed raisins
under someone's fridge
once proud and ponderous
now slightly bigger than dinner plates
and not much thicker-
a dried newspaper paste
of congealed stories never told.
it is not known why the giant strawberries
beached themselves on the shore of Silver Lake.
the size of a four-year-old's fist
they glistened in the sun;
the cool waves lapping over them
caused them to enlarge and shrink
like pulpy beating hearts.
the nearby stones were
likely not jealous of their crimson shine
as misplaced fruit
is a mere blink in their timelines.
the delicate snail shells
sprinkled on the shore
like rice in a bride's long hair,
from their disintegrating spirals
regarded the fruits as gods
and would happily have corkscrewed
deeply within their shining walls
if only they could.