as the twilight
descends
as only twilight can
I
melancholy again;
my heart the same
shade of purple
and translucent as
outside
Then
you appear from
behind the screen door
you have been in the yard
your skin
flushed from the
sun that was
and you put down
in front of me, on the wooden floor
a hardy brown-paper sack
and show me
it's filled with
lemons-
ripe, incandescent, fruit of the sun
and that is it.
Between the back of your neck
and looking
at these lemons
my heart trips
back into
the light
~Eva Trudeau
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