Haris Homestead, 09/10

We know exactly where the grapes
these figs start and stop
where they fell and by which
hand they are brought to tent
and table, I wish for a longer
but less a vist than a lifestyle,
on the two banks of the ocean,
the water spelling and spreading
me, my eyes, cutting
all this property we've acquired
all of this in half, even
the memory of which closet
I locked last
is parceled out like summer
melon, the fog is sure
rolling in, peeling up
the summer layers, the weddings
scalping the low low waves
of the Mediterranean Sea
as boys are prepared for school,
each new book is a promise
and each girls' first smile
but there's no one to stop this
moving on that we're doing,
no tree to grab onto
as we flash by and away
years at a time.