Around man hangs a shell through which no one thinks about the gorges

Everything so easy and accessible
like the life of a king shown at a school performance

Happiness appeared right after taking it
You don't worry about anything like just after your arrival

When you were little, innocent
in the adult world, you are no longer blameless

And to forget, you take it like everyday life
that poisons you, you can believe me for sure

In the garden, we drank cherry wine—  
it was summer, but already the world was burning
You said love could outlast history,  
could outlast the soil we buried our dead in
But even then, your hand trembled in mine,  
as if holding on was a kind of politics  

You, my lover, spoke of revolution  
like it was a season that would never end
And yet, beneath the vines, beneath the sun,  
I could see the rot setting in—  
even sweetness grows bitter in time,  
even love turns sour with too much hope

What remains is the taste of fruit on my tongue,  
as the world smolders, as you fade  
into the distance of what we cannot save

You have outgrown a handful of lovers and a multitude of friends—
separating your solid pains from a liquid of your tears;
But you were caught in the strain, for as you grow and change;
those you’ve known will grow away to be a change of friends

Through every fence we ***** between ourselves, some remain
on the side where you cultivate your life, while others are
relegated to the opposite side, merely spectators from afar

Maturity is a bittersweet taste:
the sweetness of realizing your growth,
akin to savouring a fine wine, - contrasted by the bitterness
of knowing you will part ways with a few friends
Cos as you feel alone; you’re not the only one in this
world to find growth

The musky candle,
solely lighting
the black room,
casts a shadow of the bedside fern—
a delicate silhouette
swaying on the wall.

Follow me now-
As we exhale,
deepening til there's no air,

As we inhale,
let our eyes focus
on the buzzing space that lives
in between objects and bodies.

Bring your attention
to the pleasure of stillness,
the lingering taste of wine
on your tongue.

Feel the pull
of our quiet obsessions,
the gravity of our thoughts.

You take your time to write yourself a muse
Upon the brittle branches in the August sky
Colours of lilac and violet dance across the sky
The sun settling in the distant end of the earth
You write the stories of the world you lost
The world that could have been upon yours
And I write to you in moments of hurried frenzy
And blissful fragments of fragility that laid its self across my body
The August sky,
You take your time to be as such
And the bottle of wine across the line of glasses that sat on the dinner table
How can one not feel younger in the presence of being loved
Of walls that to be brought down from being guarded for one to long of a moment
A moment that became a lifetime all the August months ago
A cold August it was, to dance around fire embers in the hopes they’d touch your heart and you could be as one in the flames

"On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee.
Mary was there with Jesus
and she nudged her son: 
'The wine has finished. This - is - not - good.' 
And Jesus said, 'Mum. Not now'. 

And Mary said 'Listen to your mother.' 
And Jesus sighed.

And Mary told the servants, 
"Do whatever he tells you." 
Then Jesus saw that it was no use arguing. And he said, "let the jars be filled with water". 
And they rolled the stone jars in front of him.
And then Jesus said, "Let there be wine". 
And they poured the wine.
And it was so - very - good.

And Mary smiled to herself,
thinking how Joseph would have loved this, 
and she whispered to Jesus: 
'This just the start you know.' 
And he did, - and it was. 

There was a mother's faith 
and gallons of glorious wine. 
And there was a mother's smile
at the sight of her son
and of this start of his new-vintage Kingdom 
with this original third day miracle. 
A sign of things to come.

And there was a party and singing 
and much laughter, 
with the Son dancing with his mother
into the evening - a Fine Third Day.

i bark, and
i lap up vinegared wine from my bowl
laden with sprinkles of fruit flies.

my collar is on
but my leash, real long.
i’m not in earshot, but
i don’t stray too far.