there were so many tomatoes that january      you made jam from a recipe you read like a story      it was the most beautiful jam i had ever seen       i unscrewed the lid of the small glass pot you gave me      and me no fan of jam     the fragrance was powerful and it looked like liquid glass       it so clear      not real at all      nearly colourless      tinged fragments shining there      tomato pips sat jellied and secure       happy in the molten glass of that jam      perfectly no skins      it looked like a wet sculpture      or just from the glass blower      still hot and cooling in a dry dawn breeze suspended in perfection for all eternity

englassed

unfloating      lucent

juicy sun-balloons

suspended in magic

unreal light      viscid beads

early farm mornings

sunrise like an overripe tomato

thick cream on ice cold milk

bread so dense it could feed the world

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