Orange Poem by RIC BASTASA

AN orange looks
so beautiful on a basket
though alone
you pick it and feel its
roundness in your hands
its softness
you look at it again
how beautiful it shines in your
hands
as though you are holding
the moon under the morning sun
you want to complete this
simple happiness by peeling it
and the small world is filled with
its scent of old memories of
home where the orchard of your father
once thrived
you feel this some more until you
decide to take its flesh
so sweet in your tongue
as you close your eyes and
feel your soul
travel to another mysterious
sphere....