but

I knew that the work was honest so

I stayed 

until the winter equinox turned the pads of my fingertips 

raw. 

and

bloody.

during my time in Monte Del Diablo.

I met a woman with straw hair

and uncommon strength,

strong enough to heave 2 baskets of

oranges.

upon each shoulder.

i remember

the outline of her thin breasts 

under thin cotton shirts

the sweat

on her upper lip 

and

the parched skin of her hands.

when I left she told me:

to kiss her and 

the sweet sweat tasted orange.

now words are orange

now tears are orange

now fears are orange

now life is orange.

unrhymable, impenetrable, irreversible

is life.