
winding like vines,
tree branches grow like a cage
over my head.

winding like vines,
tree branches grow like a cage
over my head.

the tree’s trunk
engulfed by vines & leaves, though
little light shines through
Grape leaves flutter
and some catch the light
to glow with translucence.
I'm in an ancient place,
and this is such an ancient
endeavor.
Wine has been the king
of pursuits in these parts
for millennia.
Is that why I can become
lost in the play of light
on quivering leaves?
Or is it just that time of day?
The sun is low -- ready to set --
My mind is slow & ready to drink.

wild grape on a wall
is a multi-clawed monster…
in my mind