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.