Treasure is often missed on first pass:
coins buried at the beach
orchards full of fallen fruit. At Ellen's,
we spy Macs and Cortlands idling on the branches
and nearly miss
the profusion of drops dappling the ground.
The windfall at my brother's house:
two adopted daughters -
knees of dark honey, cheeks like Winesaps.
Gleanings from another life
they settle into their parents' laps
the way seeds nestle at the heart of the apple.

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