Grappa maker

The grappa drips from a copper still, young clear spirit

Eagerly dripping through the jug’s glass lip.

Day draws on like a sweet burning sap.

We go walking in the rain past palm and old persimmon,

Nettle patches, little cleavers, sodden olive groves.

Moonlight distills to silver in the shimmering leaves.

Ancient olives are gnarled but fruiting. The grappa maker

Keens to the sound of the sap collecting.

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One Response to “Grappa maker”

  1. meatncheese Says:

    I really like this poem with its distilled observation. It has a real serenity to it. Keep writing! Oh yeah, by the way, if you’d like to submit it to my friend’s art/poetry publication, ‘Purple & Gray’, the deadline for the next issue is January 20th. Just send whatever you have to Genevieve at purplegrayeditor@me.com.
    The deadline for the next issue is Jan 20th.

    Charlie

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