the amount of wine he left in the bottle
was minimal
it was almost nothing.
he spoke of the vineyards
visited in France
sometimes he was the only guest,
a table was set just for him.
i could picture him feeling like
a prince or king,
tasting an elixir,
smiling widely as he swallowed the magic.
we talked for several hours
remembering acoustical wonders
where he played and i sang
music had held us very close
to each other
now we were joined by a thin vapor
a fragile remembrance
next day when i drank the remaining wine
i smiled and tasted our good fortune
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January 7, 2020 at 1:24 pm
Margaret Oldfield
Hello Daniel,
I’ve enjoyed reading your poems over the years, but haven’t been receiving your notifications in recent months. Could you add me back to your email list list? My email address is oldfield@acanac.net
By the way, the book chapter I wrote containing a piece of one of your poems will finally be published next spring. It took 5 years from writing the chapter to publication of the book. Whew!
Cheers,
Margaret Oldfield