A Byway

The orange grove was like a forest, trees full
of fruit standing close together I couldn’t gaze
through, look west to see the winter ocean.
Further on I came to an olive grove, more space
amongst trees that looked serious like elderly,
sagacious men contemplating a vanishing future,
while terracotta wooly sheep grazed on fresh
green grass; and I could see a sliver of the sea,
glittering as a pearl-necklace thrown away by
an intemperate wife of a Russian oligarch.
Timeless she is teasing me with her shimmer,
I thought of racing down to the coast join a ship
and sense the heave of the seas under my feet
once more Ah, but not today, if ever.

The sheep stopped grazing looked my way,
chewed slowly, it was getting colder and they
had flecks of sunlight in their eyes.