a jug from Italy...
The universe is ancient,
we are told, yet each day
we create the world anew -
each thought a window,
in each word a view,
a porthole to the soul;
and with each deed
an avenue unfolds -
revealing possibility,
a fragment of identity,
a glimpse of water,
shimmering
between long sheaves
of poplar leaves.
I buy a jug from Italy,
adorned with grapes
and sprigs of vine.
Shall I fill this vessel
with fresh water
or with vintage wine?
The jug is a repository
for nuances,
for vagrant dreams -
translucent evenings far away,
nebulous with jasmine,
angelic voices of the sea,
confidences, auguries...
Each morning I drink deeply
of its wistful distillations,
each night I leave it
empty on the sill
to gather moonbeams.
Each day we create
the world anew
in iridescent hues
and forms and visions -
our inheritance,
the key to all we seek on earth,
claimed in the moment of our birth -
a formula that replicates
the blueprint of the universe…
*Inspired by a motif in a poem by Abba Kovner