You Are The Wine


You are the wine

that cannot return

to the grape.
Some ferment has turned you

Thousands have been crushed

for the sake of this breath,

bouquet of oak and rose,

cinnamon and musk,

Spring rain on withered hay.

The tree of the Vedas,

the whole vine of knowledge

entangled in the hollow

of a tiny seed,

the place your forehead goes

when you bow.

Astronomy and silence,

wisdom and tipsiness,

what's the difference?

Just say thank you

and savor yourself.

Art by William Adolphe Bouguereau

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