The tree goes on unceasingly—lemons fall
and fold into earth and begin again—
me, I come here as a salve against heat,
come to languish, to let the soft bursts—
essence of citrus, summer’s distillate—
drift into my face and settle. Water and gold
brew in the quiet deeps at the far end
of the season.

Sunday Sayings: Extract of Marsha de la O’s , “Under the Lemon Tree” and my photo of a lemon tree in a neighbours garden in Tiberias, Israel (as also here)