Tomato

Merciless in the frost around my fruit
Ripened sweet and turned hard
I'm bit by tiny insects in a trace, and once
By a field mouse, as a test.

The seeds have gathered around
In crescent communities and clusters
With each an egg and a slip
Gliding constellations in the dark,

In hues of yellow, green, and red
To human eyes, of course. They're
Ready for a long journey down a
Hatch through, life through the grit.