Pear Trees

In the Mugello


Pear trees, unpruned, but still producing fruit

Grew by the farm,

Leaves dusty yellow as the pears.

How many years since they had taken root?

I stretched my arm

To them as if across the years

And bring them back into the present day,

Clutching the form,

Pears that resembled rounded breasts

In sunlit marble flecked with dabs of clay.

But these were warm

And welcome to the hand as guests.


I brought them back to time,

The simple one of trees

Forgotten but still growing by a dusty lane.

An orchard ladder helped me climb

Towards the fruit and seize

It, saved from falling where it only would have lain.