Poem

How to drink water when there is wine by Barbara Kingsolver

How to stay at this desk when the sun  

is barefooting cartwheels over the grass —

How to step carefully on the path that begs  

for the fleet unfettered gait of a deer —

How to go home again when the wood thrush  

is promising the drunk liquid bliss of dusk —

How to resist the kiss, the body forbidden  

that plucks the long vibrating string of want —

How to drink water when there is wine —

Once I knew all these brick-shaped things, and how  

they protract the striving and virtuous life.

Now I have lived long and I know better.