Drink this poem

Drink this poem                                                                              

This poem, o lover, might lead you

down a lost lane into a dark woods.

Or, it might become a gate

opening onto a sunlit, holy vineyard.

This poem, like any other,

can never tell the Truth –

but, it might expose, at times,

Its skeletal remains;

like the empty casks and kegs,

cups and flasks

of a holy celebration

we’ve yet to be invited to;

dregs of a wine whose taste –

even the nuance of its fragrance –

intoxicates and enraptures.

Poetry never tells the Truth,

but, it might, at times, become a rope-gate

opening onto the lush, green, fragrant

grape-laden rows

of a sunlit, holy vineyard.

O child of God, drink this poem (and others)

when the Tavern is shuttered and dark.