[Still Life] Clear and clean, even cleaner once, Melbourne water spirals down into smooth curves and rises like a column to a brim. More ancient than brain cells sending crave-signals, water bends table and outside greenery to round likenesses. Cells of lemon are real to us, compacted quarters according to a plan defying understanding. Science says its ‘say what’ things, but lemons are home to us. We take them off our tree as they appreciably yellow, like now in March, and arrange them on a blue Iznik plate. How absurd are the French with their fixed terms like ‘nature morte’.