| Mother of Stone, Cybele, Stone Mother, keep me low, Resigned, involved, confusable As to the novice eye the vine With wild thyme and caper, close To your chemic soil— Ash, tuff, and pumice—twined In on itself to stand Up under summer wind And to condense the sure, sheer mist That plumps until night harvest Fruit tanged with sulfur, pressed Then to a salt-tinged must, Oak barrel ready, A bit acidic, wit-dry, heady. Copyright © 2014 by Stephen Yenser. Used with permission of the author. |
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