Two lemons from the local market
sit in a handmade terracotta bowl
– or perhaps it's a saucer –
on the engineered stone
work surface of this kitchen./
The lemons' yellow against brown
earthenware bring back 1986:
our last Greek island, the rocks
we lay on all day, between swims,
sex in our dim room, and later/
on a terrace, scoffing dolmades
drenched in lemony olive oil.
Wild thyme in the air, hair stiff with salt.
I scratch a lemon and sniff.