I was with Him on the mountain,
in the fruited grotto
among quiet, rainless vines.
And—how do I tell it!--He was clothed in light,
light alone,
undiluted wine when I had tasted water.
Even now, dry-mouthed swallowing,
words ripple back through me,
inarticulate and changing
as the witness of the fathers.
And even in my turning there was
a scorched, beloved face—
eyes open
to the glory,
to the taste.