A Little Wine

A few more from the vault

Mild Musings from a Mediocre Man

Some days are for wine

When the sun hangs low

Swirling with burnt reds and yellows

And the dust swathes purple hues in the sky

Lovely grapes taste of deep, violet veins

Plump with memories of ancient soil

Littered with ghosts of Sangiovese

Most nights are for wine

When there’s a slow glow

Illuminating the clouds going home

A fruitful gesture, the nomadic divine

With songs from the poets filling the night

Like so many singers afraid in the light

We dine on the moon with our purple-est wine

Our faces those of god, filled with the blood of a Christ

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