You Were Water. Now You’re Wine.


Another morning when my flesh is weak though there’s another beat in my mind.
The paint can rolling around in the trunk is a sign.
It gives witness to my task for the day and bangs in time
to Mastedon.

“You were water.
Now you’re wine.”

Rocking past the men waiting in line
in the parking lot with hands in their pockets, I pray they find
work. And something more.
Out of the bright sunshine
and back home where I dine
on a communion breakfast of an egg sandwich and grape juice, easing into the grind.

Today I may feel like water,
but I’m going to live like I am wine.

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