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Show THE EATING OF GRAPES Seed from the red grape of old generation, i tell you like beads; murmur on you & gratitude for all years crocked and casked cellared and cupboarded against wilderness. To hold you in the bowl of my hand, still shining from flesh under time's late sun, is to watch a thousand arbors open green open sweet toward summer and the gold-footed bee, swell in clusters like gossip to ruddy-walled cisterns of rain translated to a richer language. First told from the palm of Noah, sprung to vine after Ararat you fruited flood rich; taken in a tent of pleasure gendered a curse on Canaan and his children. To feel you in the proportion of tears wept smoother than stone is to declare a thousand thousand vineyards of treasure laid up among dark leaves, |