When long light of summer
reaches under Maple’s canopy
to paint the tall fence,
I dance flamenco around the table
still cluttered with feasting remains.
Whirling in spiritual abandon,
my body plump with age and excess,
I am the conquistadora of fresh greens
still dripping from lush rainfall.
Passion’s crisp snap under my wet fingers –
hips sway and shimmer
like Maple’s leaves in the wind.