Where they are picking olives

Where they are picking olives

there are barely two colours

                                                   green and grey.

The first of dull drab olive from the hill

and secondly a close-knit sky that weighs

above the trees a massive crop of chill-

a long canvas the old man borrows from

to pull beneath the trees.

And she whose shape

now questions the ground for answers

takes on a small

grizzled piece of the same cloth

to cape her hair and shoulders.

See with their sticks

and pails what strange creature they are become

who mine the long ripe hedge

and heavy pick of hidden fruit.

Winter winds its own numb sheet about the scene

hemmed with wind and rain

two pale ghosts who harvest summer days again.

These poems are from my new collection IN THE APRICOT DARKNESS (view the cover and contents below in my recent posts). They are now being published individually, daily under 'recent posts' on my blog and will be available shortly as an eBook that can be read online or downloaded for free.