How to Drink Water When There Is Wine How to stay at this desk when the sun is barefooting cartwheels over the grass— How to step carefully on the path that pulls for the fleet unfettered gait of a deer— How to go home when the wood thrush is promising the drunk liquid bliss of dusk— How to resist the kiss, the body forbidden that plucks the long vibrating string of want— How to drink water when there is wine— Once I knew all these brick-shaped things, took them for the currency of survival. Now I have lived long and I know better.
