Goshen

We lie, warming, adrift,
timeless, on the dock.
I watch the water trifle
with the water's surface
until I grow dizzy
with senseless movement.
The lake burns in the sun.
A hawk cuts a singular
circumference in the still
afternoon. I am a stranger,
but when the light is perfect
the water, reflecting,
returns the world to itself.
I write this to return.

Oranges

I have watched you peel
oranges with a spoon, insinuate
the bowl beneath the rind with
practiced moves. I’ve
been accustomed to knives
and was amazed to see
you peel it clean with spoon
and fingers the first morning I
found you standing at the kitchen
counter, naked, peeling,
pulling apart the sections,
eating, a blue and white plate
heaped with rind. Mornings,
now, the kitchen is fragrant with
oranges and coffee. You come to
find me in the bedroom, dressing, and
hold out a section of orange.
I open my mouth, amazed, ready
for all you offer.