Midsummer

Somewhere, legends languid in the stones Conspire. The lilac exuding warmth of the fruits, Of birds That break above the golden orchards, Once green.

A hot day and the midday question, I see the river clawing at white roots, Shattering: The twinkliest of its gaze reminds me. The lilac Is shrubbish and frantic in its humour And crows gaze mockingly with inky eyes, Wrapped Around the grapevine; a breeze curls, And I giggle and am swept like a circular leaf.

• Derek Walcott