In the yellow field, a straw hat and a red cow.
A white horse switching greenflies with its tail.
I remembered the dead poet’s cornfield, and sunflowers.
I checked my watch: two o’clock. Some skin divers
were coming back from the water, still in their wetsuits.
One of them, carrying his blue fins and a large octopus,
looked at me as if he knew me. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I said back, and felt like I should have said more.
Then a breeze came down off the mountain, the olive trees
shivered, the cicadas stopped. With a feeling of peace,
I stepped forward to stroke the white horse’s mane.