Sister, Near Daybreak

She is peeling an orange
Over a table,
Eyes to her hands,
Slight and ivory-pulled.
Morning at her head,
Lighting her temple,
Giving her something to
Grow kind against.

Swift division of skin and pulp
Uncoupled between taut bare palms,
Undoing the shell, taking it all
With a soft moving mouth,
Sending out a shower of singing pieces, 
Parting for a secret song.