Untitled -- Ian Disch

There lies on the ground
A barren vine:
All the fruit has been taken,
Fruit free to all
eaten entirely.
Once, sweet grapes hung there-
Ripe, glistening, enticing-
but now there is nothing.

A tear comes to m eye.
That barren vine-
my brother.
We are one, and empty,
and only the bitterness is left,
the bitterness no one wants.
Yet, while the vine is
dead,
I bloom again.

-Ian Disch