Strawberries

Field of red
in which strawberries
chatter and curve
into the shape
of each other,
are plucked into
a dust so
fine and calm
that not even
God can know,
that which He
had made is
more full of
vibrance when turned
from the world,
and the world
says "come, now,
and I promise
you won't be
sad anymore,"
but this life
is weak for
it cannot hold
under even reds
so putrid.