The towns are shattered. Until
The light swivels round on the black
Water, and in the morning, the sun
Light fades away the zodiac,
The furnace of plasma’s light soaks
The leaves and sugar floods the twigs,
The breeze sifts across the orchard,
The scarlet lines of burst figs.
At noon, the light is so intense
That the green groves cannot disguise
It, turn it into illusory eyes,
But hold a tremulous compromise.
Yaacov David Shulman