Figs

I warmed ripe fresh figs

in a late summer sun and

wished you were here to

share them. Shadows from

beech leaves and a southerly

breeze shed their scent and

their flavour towards you.

The taste of the fruit, the

kiss of its myriad seeds was

a scattering of sensations. I

looked to where the sun was

and smiled in that direction;

the figs were sweet in my fist

and I missed you here to share

   them.