Synesthesia

Full moon fills the orchard
as the arms of the fruit-bearers
bathe in her grace,

letting go for the night
of their hardened gnarling
they open stomata
and cambial throats

and a bright choral hum
fills the Gravenstein air
with a praising so sweet
it makes waves of her light

and it tickles the wildflowers
wiggling below while they 
waft their own loving 
like notes for the nose,

and I find myself bending 
and offering breath from the moon
in my vibrating nectar-filled chest

as we bask in the radiance
of pure reflection.