Two pianos,
haunting brilliance,
wonder on the vine.
In the vineyard,
in the glass,
tasting notes of worth.
Sing the song of chaos
mounting in despair.
Yet a sort of hope prevails,
leading me to the end note.
The binding, crushing madness.
Smashed grapes,
macerated winter fruit, dancing,
like Jack Frost on the pines.
The relentless notes
of cherry, ice and sadness,
a beauty to behold.
On the vine,
in the glass,
fading away.