lemon

They loved each other, but a lemon tree grew between them—no solace in the way it leaned, as if to whisper from her yard into his, across the coyote fence, a promise of something greater. The fruit was a luminous yellow, triumphant in the branches—at night, he'd stare at the tree's dim body...

Come sweet lemon come away, The grove cannot enfold us. Let's bleach the whisper from the sky. Let luscious winds embalm us, No trace of us but wafts away, Before the fragrant morning! Come sweet lemon come away, Before the fragrant morning Sucks in its cheeks that bid us stay Below the citrus...