the ashtrays make their presence
known
a hand clutches the neck of a wine
bottle
a man screams as he makes love to a
broken-string guitar
balance is lost after one glass too
many
bones settle into their place,
complete
with their aches and pains
and rain slams into glass with
the guilt of a hurricane
that has torn apart towns
we remember the drought
we remember when the roots
of the grapevine broke free
they were so strangled by the soil
that they forgot how to breathe
old ground was broken here
in the way that relics are
unearthed
where least expected
but always, there are holes