Love Poem for
a Grape Vine

Not just the grapes but this time of year.
You could say it was the dryness of the grass.
Bees are passing away
in the arms of flowers.
Ride towards the hills
and they are oxidising copper,
the air is very still.
Fruit sighs out of orchards and vineyards
musking under leaves.
You could say it was lying in wait
in baubles of abundance.
The next year
the quiet death
the seeds.