The purest day is a day without hands.
Numbers – reliquary abstraction.
Blankness is blessed,
and it unwinds to ancient time.
Below the beat of clock, deaf to appointment, to hunger, to anticipation.
The end comes when we are told;
Foretelling is for fools.
I’m an emotional person, and the best of my wines are infused with the barely-contained love I feel every time I’m in the cellar. Today – rainy, gray, cold. Haven’t