Mulberries

               Flies swarm
over mulberries
               mashed on the road,
purple pulp fermenting
               in the heat beneath the tree’s
heavy shadow.
               Rorschach blots.

What else do the seething stains
               summon? What bird
or bat might descend
               for the seeds? What doe
or fox might approach
               to lick the macadam?
Does it matter who gets fed
               & why?

Is there a God
               if it’s a butterfly?
Is the very idea of him, or her,
               dead in its tracks
if it’s a wolf
               who, dissatisfied
with meatless juice, turns
               toward the doe?