First Fruit ( a poem for LammasDay)

FIRST FRUIT

When I have written
one-thousand poems
will there be one
perfect enough,
ripe enough,
to be plucked
and set at God's feet
as an offering
of first fruit?

Was I brave enough?
Was I wild enough,
to peel the skin of illusion
revealing
the juicy heart of truth?

Did my words nourish
with pulsing umbilical blood
the neonate dreams
of a new, more feral race?

When I arrive
at Heaven's gate,
will I hear God whisper,
Let her pass,
a poet enters here.