nothing but ripe apples

my garden is on this side of Eden,
neighbor
to the tree and angels and such
 
we nod as we go about our daily chores
weeding and mulching and limbing up
the stragglers growing against the fence
 
I wonder what all the fuss is about,
reading the news.
when we live this side of paradise
 
and there is nothing but ripe apples
and bittersweet vine
separating us
from each other