The promise of the banal,
the dull and unremarkable,
the dark wine hidden
in the clear, regular jar,
in the plain and the pained
the beautiful and life-giving,
stars in the night
and the silence ripe with song,
what wasn’t even meant for drinking
become the finest drink,
the hopeless afternoon
impossibly made brilliant,
what lack already may be
made an abundance,
the first Word that turned
the dark light,
is in your plain chipped cup,
God swirling, sea-dark, intoxicating,
and has turned.
You haven’t tasted it yet.
—January 17, 2019