as she pours from glass

bottle to glass. sober

seven months, it is 22:18; 

all details are significant.

dry red,

from the galil,

syrah…

has me

imagining dust and tannins,

goat bells and wind, 

voice of someone I loved and love. all this

permitted now to spill

down my throat

like a brilliant sonnet

returning to its moment of inspiration. 

daylight cedes to sunset, leading 

to the infinite map

of stars, planets, 

moon on black:

as long as I can keep from falling 

into thrall of it and my eyes remain

green; so long as I

do not freeze to the spot,

I may enjoy this dram, this dream.

all the voices, all the skies, now

the cork removed, 

all the perfume, all the song,

as she pours into the first glass

with the sound

of an excited child

trying to tell the entire story

of the entire day—

in a single gulp.

mar 8 21

Published Mouse Eggs May 2021