This one’s for the long nights. The ones you think back to— fire warm, snow settling quiet on the sill. Or: refuge from a sudden rain; a chance taken, to enter a door unknown. New haunts, and old. A clean, well-lighted place. A dark corner to hole up in, maybe. Somewhere to just be for a spell.

The knowing smile of someone who knows just what to pour. The flavor of an old companion.

This one’s for the worker just getting off the late shift, stopping in for a brew. For the doctor with sore feet, at home at last, swirling a glass of red. For the circle of folks sitting around reminiscing about a friend who isn’t there anymore. For the wine and sake makers, for the whiskey distillers. For the one who put down the drink and never picked it back up again. For the bottle gifted after a heartbreak, almost (but not quite) empty. For the sparkling toast to celebrate a union. For the dusty cellar shelves, the forgotten casks, for the angel’s share. For sunlight held together by water, for harmonies of nature’s blessings and human wisdom.

It’s something we share, a flow of culture that runs through us— something we share, too, with the muses and gods. Some might call it poetry distilled. Some might say poetry wouldn’t exist without it (they’d be wrong—poetry is, of course, always). But still, delights unfolding—a pucker of the lips, tickle of the fancy, turn of the phrase, lilt of the line, just one more glass, perhaps, of—

Hours well spent, after all is said, and the sounds fade and give way to thought, to reverie, to wonder. How lucky we are, to be left with notes to linger on, something to ruminate on before we go. How lucky we are to share moments, to have these words that reside in the space between us, bridging, flowing, offering us another chance to indulge.

Invocation:

Pour one out for time lost, and for all the people along the way.
And raise a glass for remembrance. For them, and you.