What a season for blueberries! Basket after basket. Always a treat of color, and they fit so well in your palm, begging to be enjoyed. Just like petite purple potatoes -- but no quite.
So, what's the equivalent in poetry? Short, of course, and unexpected yet satisfying. Not haiku (they have a sense of salad and breeze and mountain about them). I think just a few words, perhaps a line only. A line full of color. Vibrant. Totally itself. Perhaps, a line curving.