The Thirsting Cup Poem by Antonio Liao

wipe the color
of the water, see the finger
that fools the grip
for the
lips set to a wide open fresh of
every droplets of wine
in the throat

our day count no more
even the dark clouds wish to light
not even the thunder stop
the calling rain as it pours
to the ground
and the soil wet than the stone

clear mind has capture my hands
thou nothing to compare
nay can the flow of the stream
stop than a swing