Poetry, Written in the Earth

Lines, lines, lines of vines

leaning to the sun

Greening to the rills and rises

pica points arrayed across 

the valley parchment

Scrolling, contouring 

the hills and gullies

Vanishing points lost

In the light chaparral and shadowed trees.

This line exclaimed by a pine

Another questioned by a curvy oak

Two parenthetic shrubs explicate a third

Mysteriously compile a code of life

Order, harmony, quiet, peace.

What intoxication.

Wine is poetry, written in the earth.

 © Philip Knight 2018