After the fruit I can pick easily
And savor in season; after gleaning
Everything overripe I’ve overlooked
Hidden among dense leaves;
After regretting so much I’ve missed,
Black lumps rotted in the dirt;
Now that the tree should be slowing down,
More green nubs have begun to ripen,
Despite less sunlight and shorter afternoons.
It will be an unexpected blessing
To eat the last sweet figs of the year
With a slight sheen of frost on them.