Monday, March 4, 2013

The Wine

Wine and cheese tonight,
I feel French
And inspired.

I move my glass
Right under the light coming from the ceiling
Just to see the wine's color.
Even the glass' shadow is red.

Ella is scatting on Blue Skies with Buddy Rich.

I look at nature photographs by Eliot Porter
Accompanied by texts by Henry David Thoreau.
Oh, one of many wonderful books
Lovingly given to me
By the man who holds my heart
And whose soul shines softly on mine.
The last sip of wine pushes my mind
Which falls into nature's portraits
With emotion.


No philosophy tonight.
Wine closes that door sometimes for me.

There's only emotion.
Wet leaves move me.
Bird eggs at the foot of the tree move me.
Tall ferns move me.
Blackberries that are still green move me.

Thoreau says:
There was a time when the beauty 
And the music were all within,
And I sat and listened to my thoughts,
And there was a song in them.

I feel dizzy, overwhelmed, in love.
In tune with the world.

I read again what Thoreau says.
A text about colors and time,
A picture of orange moss on rocks.

I smile at each season.

Wine isn't what this poem is about,
It just started this flow,
Amplified a few perceptions.

It's about the intensity of living,
The importance of finding
The little string
That links us to everything else.
It's a thin string
But it's there.

If you find it,
Hold on to it tightly
And don't let go.

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