I look up night or day and it's all clear-
sky, leaves, clouds, rooftops, rain-all solid
and real, the blankness inside, and I aver
to make a change, forgo liquor, eat boiled
gruel, work my tender hands into black dirt,
watch shoots grow green, "lift up my russet
brow." In Vino Veritas; red claret
will be my one indulgence, each facet
of the crystal glass I drink from a stone
in the gaudy ring of my life's folly.
In this dancing light, I'll dig for new bone,
for truths not even numbness can sully.
But I'd rather have a fruity drink with lime
supine on a beach in some tropical clime.