In Este the vineyards wept under the expanding
fog. Her empty eyes stared at me and
in their reverberating darkness I was trapped as
her spirit formed aged velvet crystals in my glass.
Violins scented of spring and a tiny droplet from her
barefooted dance inundated the morning breeze.
My foot stamped the gravel as a thinly crusted air
forced its way into my soul. Then
life evolved from her humid smile and from
her ancient throne she guided the perennial path
of yellow in the automn while day and
night her people gather under bread of moon
and salt of stars, pulling forward into
the simple complexity of life
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