The Feast

Originally posted 7/27/2013.

For each guest a gift —
honey in a small jar.  

Broad leaves laden with
sticky rice as a bed

for cloud-white fresh fish, steamed
and spiced. Tall tumblers

of tart juice, a good wine
of local provenance

in a thick-walled carafe.
After, fruits and nuts

placed within reach
to be eaten at leisure.  

When I woke, this all became
a rapidly fading dream.

Ten minutes later, could recall
neither the perfect conversation

that accompanied it
nor the name of she who sat across from me

and made me feel small and
as full of future as if I were a seed.

I did recall how her eyes
were sweeter than the fruit,

sweeter than the honey in glass
that glowed in the sunset; 

I still recall how much I wanted
to call that place home.