an undying sunset

what constricts me is what hurts you
it stutters in my heel as i limp
the potatoes are under attack
as they flower in the white heat

the first zucchini small tender
fried with their orange flowers
delectable in egg batter
sprinkled parsimoniously with salt

the radishes are finished
too bitter now too hard
they will be cast to the eager rays of the sun
and burnt to compost
between midday and the dying night

i amble this evening
thinking of how much money one needs
to protect a dream
i fear the air they breathe
i do not trust the words
from beneath their southern smiles

spinach leaves raw peas
pungent rucola coriander plenty
parsley and basil gathered
water sprinkled carrots in ferrous earth
finally starting to grow

pain is a lizard mating in the jaws of morning
the grass snake seems to fly
over the dead weeds
the lizards jump to avoid its black gullet
the swallows year after year
build the same nest of dead olive twig and straw

somewhere you dance
somewhere you scream
i doubt these rumours which have you dead
your flamenco is an undying sunset
as you cry dry tears over your baby's sleeping brow


you learn falling

the Scirocco is a wind from the south
it fetches water from the far reaches of the Mediterranean
it brings cloud this morning over the olive grove

in the night the motorbike skidded to its death
the cars sliding under the bright full moon
i had one hand on the wheel
we were kissing the moon and the night
we stripped the blackness

sip my coffee this morning
gather the dead carcasses of the slugs
as i write to the soul music from that other planet
where my fellow poetess suffers
where they are trying to stop her beauty
with forms to compile and post
with lawyers and injunctions
with the insults of jealousy
and inverted adulation

i pick up the compost and the slender tomato plants
what else can i do
i must take advantage of these first clouds
i have lost too many seedlings already
their leaves crinkled or black
you learn falling the man said

there is no way forward
which is not backwards
into the errors we can repair
with love



no need for tomorrows


in this baking august-may
the burnt grasses homes
to hungry lizards
must be harvested
much as a piano plays
for the echoes of a lost child

all the farmers know
any more rain is a bonus now
as they fix their leaky hoses
as they plant the final battalions
of peppers and aubergines and tomatoes

the peas are so sweet my friend
they rarely make it to the kitchen
we pull the first garlics
we merrily crunch on radish and lettuce
the rocket leaves marry well
with Parmesan and olive oil
the spinach nourishes the multitude

the last cauliflowers and broccolis
the fave are picked
they lie in the sun to blacken and dry
for faraway rainy winters
the first tiny courgettes along with their flowers
are gaily fried and munched

this cloudless week
has seen many casualties
collapsed seedlings pasted on the red muds
but the lavender and sage and cistus are in flower
there is something eternal
something contrary to man which delights me
in their necessary flowerings

it is dark now as i sip red wine
listening to Arabian jazz
i have punctured time
and yet still it screams revenge at me
sometimes an extra glass
brings eternity to your bedside
it is draped in images of olive groves in the sun
what i transmit now is the feeling of it
the rising moon of friendship
which needs not look for tomorrows