Yes, I thought of the wine and cupand of course you sprang to mind, my love.
The night half-full of stars, the streams
brim with your absence, and flow rough.
Too blind tonight the lamp of moonit rises too fast and sinks too soon
half empty its crescent thin glass gleams
on still dark waters of the lagoons.
I thought of you and the wine and cupand this brimming emptiness felt enough
what’s full is full, what’s empty seems
too precious still to give it up.