The Harvest of Dragon Eyes

Brazen days of August begin

with the long light of dawn

blinking like a dragon’s eye

through the sunburned sky.

The snip of scissors echoes

down the line of low-hanging

trees in the orchard, as I gently trim

the branches holding

tan-colored fruits, but try to spare

the fragile leaves.

When my blue basket is filled

I adjust my dusty headscarf

and carry the frail crop

to the rusted-out truck bed.

There are dozens of empty

crates to be loaded still.

The harvest is a crowded city

emptied by a tsunami

of dutiful hands.

The jade leaves left behind

point at the descending sun

like fingers wanting to be free.

Accept one fruit to savor

but choose carefully:

unripe longans have no flavor

and those too old tend to fade

in taste--like human memories

waiting to be made or lost.

When the peel is gone

and the seed discarded,

place the translucent white

flesh on your tongue

and let the sweet juice

drip down your throat

like a tincture of honey

spun from fragrant blossoms.