nunc est bibendum

When the gods leave

do you think they hesitate,

turn and make a farewell sign,

some gesture of regret?

When they leave,

music is loudest,

sun high, stores fat

with harvest

and you, dizzy with wine,

befuddled with well-being,

sink into your body

as though it were real,

as if yours to keep.

You neither see their going

nor hear their silence,

you sleep,

bereft of dreams

in your good bed.