Midi

Les Murray

Muscles and torsoes of cloud

ascended over the mountains.

The fields looked like high speed

so new-mown was the hay,

then the dark blue Italian lavender

met overhead, a strange maize

deeply planted as mass javelins

in the hoed floor of the land.

Insects in plastic armour stared

from their turrets, and munched

as others machined stiffly over us

and we turned, enchanted

in sweet walling breath

under far-up gables of the lavender.