If you will forgive me, sir…
I ate one the persimmons.
There were six, but one
was bruised and I knew you wanted
the picture to be a balance
of brush strokes
and paint and persimmon.
Like Mu Qi. I know you think perfection
is an illusion found in art alone, but…
It could have been a wormhole
sir, that persimmon, past death,
so delicious, so cold.