poem but a friend said dana when you write a poem about a young man and woman in a garden with an appleal it is about something else. it is called the apple orchid. this is written years later and addressed to her. you won't remember it-the apple orchard we wandered through one april afternoon, climbing the hill behind the empty farm. a city boy, i'd never seen a grove burst in full flower or breathed the bittersweet perfume of blossoms mingled with the dust. a quarter mile of trees in fragrant rows arching above us. we walked the aisle, alone in spring's ephemeral cathedral. we had the luck, if you can call it that, of having been in love but never lovers- the bright flame burning, fed by pure desire. nothing consumed, such secrets brought to light! there was a moment when i stood behind you, reached out to spin you toward me but i stopped. what more could i have wanted from that day? everything, of course. perhaps that was the point- to learn that what we will not grasp is lost. there is a type of religious statue in the southwestern united states. it was carved out of wood, usually by