Never again will you do this:
peel an orange, its rind coming away
in ragged, cloth-lined cups. The globe beneath the skin
mapped out with white degrees of longitude.
Never again will you, as we must, separate
the small purses, fat and filled,
or spit out the seeds that swim there
like tiny round fish with flattened tails.
You will never again lift your fingers
to breathe their citrus scent.
This world, this whole
world has gone from you,
as you have suddenly gone from us
leaving a linger of fragrance.
A bright thing, spent.