Vineyard

I followed a pheasant that flew into a vineyard,
they were pressing the first of the wine in the vineyard.

My hands still remember the blackberry thorns
that pricked to draw blood at the edge of the vineyard.

Autumn thunder and rainbows swept along the freeway
while I wandered lost down the rows of the vineyard.

The wine-pressers gave me cheese and bread to eat
and I joined their harvest and labored in the vineyard.

But they only laughed and shook their heads at me
when I asked for directions to get out of the vineyard.

They only laughed and shook their heads at me
when I tried to find out who owned the vineyard.

Bronze feathers scattered from my careless feet.
A coyote killed a pheasant somewhere in the vineyard.

Oak leaves were falling and saffron had bloomed
and I knew there were mountains far beyond the vineyard.

All of this land is in the hand of my Beloved
from the peak of Mt. Hood to the bottom of the vineyard.


Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside