Casked

Casked

I am the cask and the imbimber

Come to a stop at the base of

your rolling foothills resting on

velvety sweet green on this morn

Come to a stop at the base of

your rolling foothills of this long

journey – months falling into years

longing for a whisper through my

slatted boards, longing for a passing

touch – day to day – month to month

adds molten time to the burgeoning

pain – I can feel the blood red of me

bubble through a slivered crack here

and there – once I was the vine - the 
wine - the beginning and all for you -
loved you and was loved in return – 
now I lay pulped strained -

–     Cask and imbiber of all that was and

–     all that seems will never be …trapped

–     here at the foothills of your indifference

–     left to inhale the scents of the stew

       of life swirling outside – I exist on sips

       of perhaps…here hidden in the sunshine

       history and future-decomposing in a field

       of butterflies and smoke

The Sunday Whirl
Photo -Peter Griffin