bounty – Colleen Keller Breuning

The Finish Line

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA — Photo Courtesy Morgue File © 2015

The Finish Line

Clouds hang overhead
geese crowd the banks
when the rain starts to fall
the farmer gives thanks.

The harvest has passed
with bountiful yields
winter is fast coming
there’s frost in the fields.

Feel the push of the wind
and the bite of the cold
his skin etched with time
bones fragile and old.

But the sky won’t snow
and the sun won’t shine
no more walks in the wood
at the finish line.

See the colors dissolving
in the cold steely sky
as he crosses the threshold
with one last mournful sigh.

I remember Coulée de Serrant
the tempting taste of 1973
never-ending summer days
wandering amber fields
our sun warmed fingers
plucking succulent grapes
sticky and delicious
from bounteous vines
fruit of the valley’s womb.

The finest vintage
decanted into cut glass
its bouquet awakens my senses
sweet honey on my palate
lucid liquid gold
toasting chilled bones
as melting wax drips down
trails of molten lava on
wooden candlesticks.

Autumn harvest looms
as early snow descends
in blankets of white
threatening vineyard yields
their virtue choked by
temperamental terroirs
frozen broken branches
crying out in despair
as empty cellars echo.

Now, nothing remains
of the Coulée de Serrant
in this barren basement
but a hollow jade bottle
haunting memories
the lingering essence
of your saccharine kiss
as I thirst eternally
for you.