2:
|The orange-girl is generally allowed to enter an auction-store, for auctioneers are mortal, and sometimes eat oranges|


I’m stone and citrus, like policemen's wives.
you're an emerald, buried in dark clothes.
your eyes leaf, bone.

your fingers so many songs

out of tune

I have fallen out of trees singing your name; I have
fallen into your foliation

into your moth-mouth, plum-
thick tongue.

wherever you are, I'll be white teeth,
an abandoned town, a wrapped parcel.

I’ll be a blonde in a black smock with sex
appeal, smelling of apiaries.

I’ll be a cold sea in an old war film.
I’ll be insubordinate

and seville sweet.

you’ll be long gone
though you said you’d never leave.

you said. you said. “those poor crippled orange trees”