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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=353533" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rotgut</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=353533" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor<br>the moon by night. Psalm 121</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=353533" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">On a hillside scattered with temples broken<br>under the dogday sun, my friend and I drank<br>local wine at nightfall and ate grapeleaves<br>in goat-yogurt glaze. The living grape vines<br>bore fruit overhead. Beyond our balcony,<br>beyond the Turkish rooftops, an old moon<br>touched Venus at one tip. This vintage,<br>he said, would melt pig iron. But I wondered,<br>were we drunk enough, and he said no. I took him,<br>staggering and laughing, in my arms, and soon,<br>with snow at nightfall easing off,<br>another old moon slid into the hill<br>behind my dead friend’s house. He loved<br>that smear of light cast back on it from earth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Brooks+Haxton">Brooks Haxton</a></strong></div>

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