Hastening slowly to nowhere candled because solar panels hate grey I listen to the long-grain rain wondering if it’s enough or too much for farmers, the dams, the drain for J’s just-shorn sheep two of his flock black as tonight. Did I do enough today? roaring brushcutter, quiet weeding curing the olives, get it right? salt, oregano, garlic, bayleaves, thyme … with the sense of the other running out, the stone beneath the flesh. These knees say “certainly, yes” as do hands, back, wind-burned face but, typically, top-end says it would be “had you done nothing at all” drunk wine,…