i am no sacred chalice waiting on
an altar for your wine to pour
into me--to define my existence

but an earthen vessel
empty and thirsty under the heat
of the desert sun, for grapes to
ripen and age and then
for me to make their spirit mine

who makes what?
is it the cup that makes the wine or
is it the wine that makes the cup?
or if there were no wine to pour
then does the cup exist in vain?

i know not the answers to these questions--
all i know is that i am empty, until
you shall pour into me.

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