Olive tree

Vulture chorus circles
in a hot blue slab of sky,
cicadas buzz and clang of
goat bells - a recent invention
to one who was here before iron
before bronze.

How do you approach such presence?
Do you curtsey do you pray?
Soft hiss of sprinkle hose
eases aching roots,
sun hammers its rhythm
as thyme and sage
perfume the mountain scrub.
What do you say to a tree that bore fruit
even as Abraham mouldered in his tomb,
before Minoans appeared on the scene?
Her silver leaves gleamed triumph
before Olympic wreaths were won.

No past life memories
just this one unending groove.

Her craggy girth enfolds
boulders with serpentine grace.
Canyon cracks and
gnarled giants underpin
her vast canopy.  Caress her, then
nestle into her weighty arms
and listen.

“How can I explain the
brevity of aeons?
This scaly body
now settled into ossification,
still breathes leaves and fruit
but I’m long gone into the…
allthisnow…. Mountainsky… sunbirdcry
no difference, no separation
no thingness now.”

“Te kanis progiagia - How goes it with you great-grandmother?”
“Kala poli kalaaaaa - Good very gooood!”

©Rachael Clyne