Bottle of Wine

I like to park a few blocks from the house of my hosts

And walk with my bottle of wine the tree-lined streets,

Anticipating the dinner with friends that awaits me.

A bottle of wine showing not only that I’m grateful

To be included but that I’m eager to do my part,

To offer a gift that won’t survive the evening,

That says I’ve set aside the need for transcendence

And made my peace at last with living in time.

Soon we’ll welcome the evening with a toast.

Soon we’ll be toasting it in farewell

As it starts on its journey into the near past

And then the far. Do the houses I’m passing

Regard me as a creature about to vanish

Into the realm of shadow while they have resolved

To hold their ground? But the bottle I’m carrying

Shows how the past can enhance the present.

The grapes it was made from were plucked and pressed

Seven years ago in a vineyard in Burgundy

According to customs already in place for generations

By the time these houses moved from the realm

Of blueprints and estimates into brick and wood.

The bottle will testify that traditions once honored

Are being adhered to still, with patience, with pride.

And if the past is present this evening, isn’t the future

Present as well in the thought that the ritual

I’m helping to pass along may prove enduring,

That however much the world around it alters,

Guests may still perform it in eras to come?

I hope I feel their presence in spirit

Under these trees later this evening

As I walk back to my car with empty hands.