06-10-2014, 07:10 PM
Sweet rosemary in summer simmer breathes out myrrh and frankincense;
as though to thwart the honeysuckle, nodding in the bee-buzzed bed.
Nothing moves of leaf or flower save rose's falling petals; hence
the drift of pink and white and yellow, creamy gold and carmine red
scattered round the shade-starved shrubs, across parched grass to pine-wood fence.
This Tuscan June inflames the senses, squints the eyes and heats the blood
until a soporific solace soon becomes a drifting sleep.
Through eye-lids closed, blue sky glows pink like newly cut soft cedar-wood.
Adrift upon the dimming day a potpourri of perfume seeps
through the amniotic haze; like babes we doze as good babes should.
The wine has gone, glasses lie tinted; tumbled, ant-swarmed in the grass.
The bees now leave against the shadows, drunk like sailors lost on shore,
to blue-wax melt of heated sky, through stark dark Cypress fangs they pass.
Geckos freeze bemused by breezes, now that the sun has ceased its soar;
the fall to earth sends subtle signs as land and life cools down at last.
How fine to feel night air upon us; each blessed by darkness, cleansed by light.
The moon half formed in ghostly pallor, rises pale 'gainst still bright ground;
the stars hide out behind net curtains, thin as silk of hyaline white.
In Tuscany we sit to supper; al fresco, candles lit around
this cobbled band of friends in summer, like fireflies we glow at night.
tectak
Tuscany
2014
as though to thwart the honeysuckle, nodding in the bee-buzzed bed.
Nothing moves of leaf or flower save rose's falling petals; hence
the drift of pink and white and yellow, creamy gold and carmine red
scattered round the shade-starved shrubs, across parched grass to pine-wood fence.
This Tuscan June inflames the senses, squints the eyes and heats the blood
until a soporific solace soon becomes a drifting sleep.
Through eye-lids closed, blue sky glows pink like newly cut soft cedar-wood.
Adrift upon the dimming day a potpourri of perfume seeps
through the amniotic haze; like babes we doze as good babes should.
The wine has gone, glasses lie tinted; tumbled, ant-swarmed in the grass.
The bees now leave against the shadows, drunk like sailors lost on shore,
to blue-wax melt of heated sky, through stark dark Cypress fangs they pass.
Geckos freeze bemused by breezes, now that the sun has ceased its soar;
the fall to earth sends subtle signs as land and life cools down at last.
How fine to feel night air upon us; each blessed by darkness, cleansed by light.
The moon half formed in ghostly pallor, rises pale 'gainst still bright ground;
the stars hide out behind net curtains, thin as silk of hyaline white.
In Tuscany we sit to supper; al fresco, candles lit around
this cobbled band of friends in summer, like fireflies we glow at night.
tectak
Tuscany
2014