Wonderfall
Crushing clocks
to make a fool’s wine,
stomping on seconds
the good grapes of time.
Every drop
a cherished sip,
staining teeth
from gum to tip.
Who’s to say it pays to pray
each time you let a minute slip?
Take these hands
stuck straight
shaking
palms pressed in desperate prayer
and form the cup
capable of catching
Dionysian rains
which fall from sights unseen
and clouds of tempting mystery
Forgo the toil
of wine-red soil
for a single drink
from the chalice of heart
alive and overflowing
with the waters of wonder
ready to intoxicate
and enrich the mind
with the seeds of creation
and the true eternal spirit
.
.
.
