Drink with Mountain, Remembered, Andalucían
The rosé from Spain
followed us west
as if hot on the scent
of tomato—
O brave New World
your fruits have gone incognito!
A rosé’s a rosé’s a rosé
with love apples.
You are moving west
beyond the Chinese coast
to the interior
of inner Mongolia. A threatened
horse rides again
the steppes unburdening
themselves below revived hooves.
The time of the emperor
is nigh. No inquisition
will be able to check
the future. Your local
grapes are delicious
picked off the vine
or bottled, thus.
This is the interval
between eras of fathers,
dictators fallen, the marble
fists crushed and not crushing.
But the future, its empress,
who can say what beast
she’ll ride to meet us?
Raise a glass, comrades—
all you who refuse
to forget the civil war.
