TOWARDS NOON

Guessing the last day
of October
will admit the horseflies
up here at the barn
in Vermont,
of course
we want our skis
to go cross country
near the farm
they are harvesting apples
and ginseng Chinese tea
as my aunt bakes
spinach and cheese croissants
when she cooks very early
and continually
with a hurting arm
reminding me
of nana Mendes
with her hurting arm
in her Spanish country kitchen
of steak, pancakes and eggs
by her open corridors
doing her priorities
her food tasting like manna
from a fed heaven
for the small multitude
hung out
with her early priorities
as she vanishes toward noon
by her bed and breakfast nook
as my city companions awake
I'm consuming a memory
of my translated poetry
in a book
now in seven tongues
with a savant's attitude,
and then on my knees
as an in -door servant
reciting the beatitudes.