Bounty

It’s August because the cabinet is empty
of the too many vases
blooms and bursts of tangerine, violet, fuchsia 
every flat surface an altar

Because the figs have arrived
honoured guests in tight green jackets
their heavy bottoms, split and sticky
abundance alchemized into jam
sweetness preserved for 
winter cheese plates
candy on brie, cambonzola
a scarf of bacon

It’s August because the fridge is full 
the plainness of zucchinis transformed into cakes
fritters, spreads
elongated beets boiled
pot of earthly blood
rough, whiskered skins glide against thumb
time bends
and I become 
the crimson hands of my grandmother

Because basil
whole bushes of it
and so
green ribbons on everything
brilliant glossy leaves soaked in olive oil, 
pungent garlic
married with pecorino

Its August because the river will soon be thick with returning salmon
my child reporting with wide eyes and a show of hands
how many fleshy bodies jostle just below the surface
because of the low flying raven
familiar sky kin
spiralled flight path
mysterious throwing of sound
animating the open spaces with a guttural trill

Its August because finally the dahlias
demure showgirls 
fashionably late
rosy-ed and full
their kaleidoscope becoming
because of the calendulas persistent blooming
slender petals wake
their sunny eyelashes
tracking the sun’s lowered path

Its August because the grapes hang in tight bundles
take refuge in the shade of their own making
this week the racoons will eat them in the darkness
I will wake to the midnight rustle
rejoice in their feasting

Because feasting
on this glorious moment
on the Earth’s so muchness
her exuberant generosity

Because the wind’s kind wisdom in my receptive ear:

The bounty is in all of us
stay still a little longer