Peaches

The peach tree was near death

When we first made our home

At The Retreat. The bark of its bough

Was cadaver grey, mottled with white.

The only life seemed in the parasite

Adding its unsought leaves.

On poya days, the full moon

Miraculously brings out the aroma

Of Queen of the Night.

Epiphyllum oxypetalum,

On Vesak poya,

The night sky was bright as midday

And clotted with stars.

The peach tree was alive with lights.

Fire-flies clustered among the leaves

And branches, echoing the stars,

Infusing a life force from the heavens.

The light seemed to link the forces

Of the cosmos with the latent

Life on the earth.

Now the tree is fecund with fruit.

The fauna is in a frenzy. Mynahs

And black robins tussle for food

With minivets, tolerant

In the knowledge

That there is enough for all.

But hooligan monkeys, bored

With a diet of jack, want it all

And throw their weight around,

Frightening the birds

Until themselves are seen off,

Only for a while, by the howling dogs.

Some peaches lie on the ground

For worms and flies to burrow

Into the rotting fuzz.