Rinds

We grate the skin of oranges

and pull the teeth out of boredom’s yawn

give our radar-ears new juices

We boil the rinds in round, glass flasks

then collect clean and clear liquids

as smiling heads absorb new skills

We remove the peel of distance

Gaps between taking part and sleep

are shut in the citrus morning

We take our shaved oranges home

skinless stars of the teenage world

that gleam in our mid-life daydreams