There's wine in the hold still to be tasted
but the moon races ahead on the sea
and this hull creaks an ancient grief of trees
felled limbed sent down to the yard
Beneath our toes here hurling down
a flower web stream of light gone
to water-moon glitter in a howling wind
where we may remember the songs
of our mothers before we were born
this wine so unsettled
will come clear
We'll drink it and know
why we wanted so much and how light
this grief after all