HARVEST TROPE

A fifth month day has two cool ends.

I hold it like a pan above the flame.

The time is ripe to stand beneath one tree,

chosen by its fruit, by this noon,

by raindrops and another’s gaze.

Below my muddy shoes,

more earth.

Before the harvest, you head for a richer orchard,

its famous slope, losing one season.

We know wealth’s not easy to share, nor easy to divide.

We know it before the seedling rises.

I leave you with your life, you leave me with my orchard.

No more yearning.

We’ve long sensed May was coming.

Invited to play the couple, we kept silent in our work.

Good luck if the fruit makes the warehouse.

I’m in love with someone, with a trope of harvest,

and set to drop from the highest bough.