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




3 thoughts on “Olive

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