Pomegranate Wine

Two separate bodies with definitive lines traverse the mountains
in different directions
Their feet mold to rocks and desert
to meet again at midnight
and commune of one another as if made of bread
and pomegranate wine.

Their skin is cool
with moist lips
and silent bodies.
They taste of sun and sugar.
Or sweet in sweat.
They radiate and evaporate.


____________________________


They have been the creators of distance
of the conversions of meters to miles
of productivity and sustenance.

And they have been the creators of gardens.
And they dig shamelessly through dirt, with mud in between the fingers and always a thirst
searching for the threads of answers
to know whether this is blessing or curse.

They are never together but cannot be apart.
And they travel these starred hills
where spirits lay in waiting
for a God less vindictive.

And they all pray
for a blessing of a curse.

and peacefully
quiet and cautious
like white moon whispers

they begin.