Wednesday, June 3, 2009


You talked of continuity
The lingering finish of pinot noir
An old vintage you said.
The roots grew on the hillsides
Concentrated effort, a struggle
For a deeper purple of small fruits.

You talked about terroir, chemistry, gravitation
Awareness of what is there
Delights of what they hold
Like the bridge you have to cross
To the temple
Concealed in the mist.

The wind chimes shivered
Crisp December night inviting
A long cuddle, filled glasses,
Brie de Meaux and baguette
That make the seasons
And what a night should be.

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