NOTHING IS LOST OF A PIECE Comments

Do you remember the small carafe

a crown of blue blossoms painted on

its wine-bearing lip?

— you bought it in Alsace for me

without enthusiasm

what for, you said, we never drink.

You never know, I insisted, one day we might

in some haze need to meet.



Its handle broke for no reason

other than a deep crack in my touch.



I hold it now from your hand

steady with your hand

my hazy alcoholic figment

fills it up with wine.
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