In the shade of the mountains,
a glass of rakiya,
just off the cusp
of the main road heading up
towards tourist attractions.
He was sure about his plants.
We were growing hazy
amongst herbs and ferns,
but he could still steer his way
through greenery labels
and the overhanging branches.
The former primary school teacher
poured what he’d distilled
and there was no question:
the lilacs bloomed and we drank.
