Lemons
This is a still life.
And shafts of dusty, yellow light
stream down
on vibrant, yellow lemons
in a pale, blue, porcelain bowl.
Shadows recoil
into shadow
into the recesses
into forgetfulness.
Your hand,
like a heron flying,
breaks through the shaft of light,
and flits
away
again.
Your voice,
bright and lemony yellow,
speaks my name,
breaks and restates
the bright, warm light.
I am sitting
silently,
eyes now closing.
You are orchestrating
light and love
and lemons
in a perfect still
life.
Of course, it’s
still
life.