Summer 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1986 |

Wild Plums in August

As long shadowsslip into the valley,we grow thirsty.Sun sits on our shoulderslike a hawkwhose eyes seizethe stark shift of season.In the darkof pines, it could benight.Your handon my neck drinksthe cold. Sheepare tearing the high grassas we walk back.In the field, amongthe other flowers,autumn crocus opensin its hour.And the orchardis scatteredwith hard-eyed plums.You bendto gather some.They are blueand warmin our palms.As we eatthem, lovefills uswith its calm.

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