Before the last parting there is a final imbibing,
and a silent "goodbye" in which a prayer exists.
We drink prayers in parting. "Goodbye" is a sacrament.
If that which was refused, (can it be refused?)
were to slip beyond the edge of the world
a sun, a sun gone beyond sight only to once more
return; even if no quicker than a candle’s flicker,
against the side of a wine glass,
it would be miraculous, would be sufficient.
It is what one drank when there was light, that makes parting
a prayer. To deny this drink is too deny the dry night,
the inevitable. In saying "goodbye" we drink dregs so bitter
that if one went to the depths of the sky, no taste would match it.
And yet, should the pouring sun come again, to bestow it’s
sweet wine
who would be caught without an empty glass
to hold the light.