III   THE EMPRESS: KEEPER OF THE SEED

This earth
                    is my rock, my pulpit.
I guard its fruits
                   jealously.
The world smiles & rewards me with stars.

My falcon flies over the world, retrieving distant fruits,
but ever in my power:
                   he returns
                                      at my command.
I remain home by the summer stream,
                                                         caressing fruits,
while the maids spin in the cottage.
I take in the sun like a fruit
                                      & feel my skin
                                                         ripen & mellow.
It is September – but the sun is still hot,
the earth still alive.
We have a little more time.
My table is a feast of melons
              to be shared with my falcon –
                            cutting the flesh of each, yellow or green,
                                             cooked or raw,
                                                              is a long ceremony.
The seeds I store in a jar –
                   I am in charge
                                      of the fruits,
                         the seeds must not wither.

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