a tree bends an arm across the patch
extending an offering of berries
to baby miners darting around
my lengthening shadow elongating
underneath the leaves of the olive
as the warm sun settles westwards.
a poem accepts these small round fruit
of another terrain which lays bare
its abundance in my hand,
placing me somewhere where Athena
rests her spirit in the wings of an owl
writing an odyssey across my wordscape.
Copyrighted by the author