Adorer of Southern Hillsides

Title taken from James' Wright's "Leaving the Temple at Nimes"

I am not English ivy, nor shade-loving violet.
I am live oak and crepe-myrtle making purple the spring,
turning my face like a sunflower to burn browner.
I am grapes burning purple. I am wine,
I am the cork that seals summer heat into wine.
My leaves are hand that turn outward
instead of the clutching climb, the clinging weight,
the roots driven into old stone, splitting medieval mortar. My roots
have cleft mountains, drawn up water
from deep places. In my shade
the purple clusters hang motionless and heavy, awaiting the gathering,
treading, fermenting, aging. My blood, barreled in my bones, corked with my skin
from these hillsides too steep to walk
facing south, always south.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside