back, the looming hedge grown pomegranates,
find friends in the native gardens,
there is a smell of fruit, herbal aromas,
beats in the air warm glass shaking
morning, in the shadows still maintains freshness,
three days is squeezed juice
cluster of this copious sweet first ripe grapes,
in jar clay has cooled off the scum;
lizard flees sun burned, on the hill
hollow stems of stone with a snow well
water, dense plum bouquet bows,
says thrush that has been loved, others
embeds memory; gives you, summer vineyard, wine
new, unfulfilled dreams know the confidence
primal, you walked one in another way
wandering, lights poplar, attracted in the absence.
Arturo Marasso, Poems integration BA, ALA, 1969, p. 17.
Picture: Vineyards in HualfĂn, Catamarca.
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