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.