Blue-black pearls,
sight of autumn ditches
excite my arid palate.

Memories
of florin-a-stone reward
for briar-scratched August pickings.
Lips and fingers
inked with patterns of days
stretched between narrow wedges
of night.

The thrill
of participation in nature’s
five-part harmony of senses.
Swallows swoop,
Honeybees suckle,
chirping, buzzing in readiness
for winter migration
or hibernation.

I place you on my tongue,
close my lips, my eyes,
and savour again that symphony
of autumn.