Ontology

          Badlands, Oregon

there is a bowl of sweet lemons
bright against winter gloom
sitting on my table

shall I take one up
score the skin
breathe in the happy
lemonosity
of the thing

shall I steel myself
bite into it
flood my mouth
with a delectable sour
the aching tang of its very being

can I then stand up
walk out the door
enter the day
live with who I am