Detox

When you put the bottle down the day comes on dull

like the ache they say of a lost limb

but in the sandy residue poured for tired cups

you can feel warm summer still

discerning in that purple grit the vine’s renewal

and its giving up of treasure;

orbs crushed leaking life into second hand barrels

patina producing pleasure

now withheld to end a deep winter’s draft

which once warmed fallow hearts

consuming themselves, wanting more than wine

and saying no, no more this time.