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| Out of lemon flowers |
| loosed |
| on the moonlight, love's |
| lashed and insatiable |
| essences, |
| sodden with fragrance, |
| the lemon tree's yellow |
| emerges, |
| the lemons |
| move down |
| from the tree's planetarium |
| |
| Delicate merchandise! |
| The harbors are big with it- |
| bazaars |
| for the light and the |
| barbarous gold. |
| We open |
| the halves |
| of a miracle, |
| and a clotting of acids |
| brims |
| into the starry |
| divisions: |
| creation's |
| original juices, |
| irreducible, changeless, |
| alive: |
| so the freshness lives on |
| in a lemon, |
| in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, |
| the proportions, arcane and acerb. |
| |
| Cutting the lemon |
| the knife |
| leaves a little cathedral: |
| alcoves unguessed by the eye |
| that open acidulous glass |
| to the light; topazes |
| riding the droplets, |
| altars, |
| aromatic facades. |
| |
| So, while the hand |
| holds the cut of the lemon, |
| half a world |
| on a trencher, |
| the gold of the universe |
| wells |
| to your touch: |
| a cup yellow |
| with miracles, |
| a breast and a nipple |
| perfuming the earth; |
| a flashing made fruitage, |
| the diminutive fire of a planet. |
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