I will share my orange with you,
passing the sharp sweet sections
across the table, and in so doing
pass the branches, the roots,
the sunny days and the rain,
the small leaves and blossoms,
the whole tree and sky.
I sit across from you smiling,
a child, a woman, and old crone,
eating an orange, existing
as the breeze does, in fluidity.
This orange is gone, but the world
is full of other oranges. One day
we will be gone too, from each other,
from ourselves, from this life,
but time is full of other bodies,
other names, other days. We will
recognize each other. We will pause,
and share an orange again.
_________
