Listen all you vegan monks, teatotalers and non-dualists,
there's a vineyard in my heart, planted by the Beloved,
with grapes too purple and delicious for the pure.
Here I age the wine that made God tipsy
before he sang your Name of light.
This vintage I give for free to anyone with an empty cup.
You won't get a formal invitation, only my lips and eyebrows,
making silent provocative gestures.
Every night the barrel inside me gets filled
with an ancient bewilderment.
Both you and your shadow could drink here
and reconcile your separation.
Whatever the opposite of bowing is,
that's what you've been doing too much of.
You don't need books or healing herbs,
just some callouses on your knees.
Why don't you enter the tavern of oblivion
and observe with a single glittering eye how you sleep?
After one cup, you won't remember why you were angry.
After the second, it won't matter which side you're on.
Wherever you thought you'd get by refraining
from what makes lovers crazy,
you'll get there quicker by drinking another cup of this!