Three Gleanings

1.

Green drains from the hills and leaves
undertow & umbered rainbow.

Morning furrows fill with mist.
Warm noons we still harvest melons.

Chasing sugars on the vine
tasting sweetness after sun or rain-

we find that flavor is an artifact of light.

All this heat and mineral and juice a clue:
the mystery summer strewed in passing—

2.

October morning: grasshoppers on kale.
Everywhere they’re clumsy, heavy-kneed.

In the field they are a fable:
Grasshoppers singing summer’s end.

Many there & real, their clumsy wobbles
are death-jig.

Poor grasshoppers who sang all summer!
Their elaborate joints climb toughened leaves.

3.

Dusk & moon out—we undo
potato cages. Root-hairs un-web

from their six-months’ perch.
In our novice hands they are chill comets.

Annus mirabilis—alchemy:
Mulch and time turned those

blind sprouts potatoes.
We hoist the oblong bounty.

Later, scrub and slice a few.
Prepare the pan with oil.

From the counter, old roots eye us whitely.