Letter from Insomnia
Accepting Li Po’s tragedy,
apocryphal or not,
we embrace her imperfect
reflection
rippling in the breeze,
but manage to surface.
I once thought I would name a child Luna
and she would glow at night
and like Hendrix, kiss the sky.
But that was whimsy
and only candles light this room
at this hour
on this particular day
in this year of the snake.
And what fool would reach for a stone orbiting at
1,023 meters per second?
There are clouds to consider, the stars
and the scattering rain
and of course wine
and the possibilities within each glass
and the drops therein.
We must discuss these matters
under her gaze, where smallness gathers.
* * *
This originally appeared in Middle Gray in October, 2013. It was written in response to a poem my friend Michael sent me, replying to this poem.
O at the Edges 
Nicely composed.
I like it.
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Thanks very much!
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I really like this poem, and the last three stanzas are beautiful in their meditativeness, looking outside at the sky then inside, at the wine like rain drops.
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Ah, wine and the night sky!
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Beautiful. Also the picture too was very good
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Thank you. The photos are from morguefile.com.
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So lovely. I have to tell you, I’m reading a “not very well written” romance series right now. Its only saving grace is the author’s knowledge of wine and the wine-making process. It’s mesmerizing. So I speed read through the stilted dialogue in order to get to the wine. A glass of wine is almost its own universe.
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Thanks, Leslie. Oh, my admiration for winemakers knows no bounds. Science + art at its best.
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Drinkable art.
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Doesn’t get much better!
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I’m on a wine hiatus. But I can still dream about it.
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Oh, no! A hiatus!
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