In one fluid movement, my husband
Twists and pulls;
A rose-gold globe the size of his fist.
He rubs it against his shirt, wipes away
The settled layer of dust, buffs
It to a vibrant sunset, red-and-yellow.
My son grabs with both hands, overeager;
Nails sinking greedy into tender flesh.
He crouches low beneath the trellised trees,
Glutting on the sweetness.