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