Carovigno

Trickle sweet this
wine from a barrel
flow strong and thick
    as dust
our vintage with
   skins of good grapes
       dancing darkly in
 to the bottle you brought
         with you unwashed
  and all the better
   
      like the man standing on
            the stones beneath
       our violet Apuglia sky
           I know the heart of it

all the white napkins
  and icy crystal lit by
 candles and smug talk
       are thin
cover for the ugly rasping
    truth

the dirty wine of
   the village
          is the best wine there is
and her strong sour kiss
      is a mountain
 for my heart,

and i weep for the
         lack of it
and i dream of
        her dry, gentle hands
and i pity the man who
    has never stood among
       her struggling
trees,
     smelled her bread
          or wept from
    her salty breeze