Dans les vignes du Seigneur*
Submitted by no_exit on Fri, 04/06/2007 - 9:55am.
Joy punches the walls of our heart,
pulls at our lips, curls our toes.
She looks out from a mirror
where she doesn't live,
from a house of mirrors,
from the back of a spoon.
Daylight is her lounge chair
and the sun (smiling down
from the sky) her glass of Chablis.
No shadows can erase her,
confound her, dismay her.
She is the ever faithful hope
in hopelessness, always flirting
with someone else.
*In the vines of the Lord - French aphorism for drunkeness
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