Cana

I love my love, my love desires me
My Beloved’s love is mine and mine is hers

And for her I delight to pour out wine
Sweet and heady, as piercing as a kiss.
So welcome all, my friends, come forth and see
Join in, rejoicing in our joy. Draw near
Drink deeply of my father’s choicest wines
And let yourselves be overcome with joy.

Monday morning comes, every week

And the wine is gone. I don’t know where it went.
The gongs of pagan temples in my head
Reverberate over a deserted backstreet,
Where I found myself upon waking. The sky is gray
Or else the light is far too bright for my head
Hungover. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I can’t see,
And somehow last night my paycheck disappeared.
The unnatural, jarring beep, beep, beep
Of the alarm jolts my heart into palpitations
Rabbit like, as I face another day.
My lovely lover’s eyes are rimmed with red
Makeup smeared and bleary; Too human,
Too real for this early in the morning.
I wish she would just offer me some wine
But that’s all gone. Long gone. And anyway,
I have to go to work today.

An older lady orders up more drink
From the strange, wild rabbi with the crazy hair
And eyes that quietly see into my soul.


The coffee maker takes too damn long
To drip my much needed morning dose
Of caffeine. Instant coffee, that’s what I need.
Or a caffeine pill. Caffeine by IV.
Drip it straight into my veins
If I am to face the day.


On the way to work he asks for water,
One hundred and eighty gallons.
Now where the hell am I supposed to find
That much water in the desert?
If I had even a tenth of that I might give you some,
And drink the rest to wet this cotton mouth
Or brew some coffee with it, or take a hot shower.
I might save it for later, just in case.
But give it to you?
And anyway, I’m still waiting on my wine.
If I were drunk I would give you water,
I can afford to be generous when I’m smashed.
What do you need it for anyway?


Well, I suppose I can give you a little.
I think I have an Aquafina in the glove compartment
Leftover from some trip or other.
Who knows what those kids leave in here.
Check under the back seat, and ignore
The prehistoric petrified Cheerios.
There you will find a bottle,
Of water. Or two. Go ahead.
Take one for the road, if you need it.
I need to pick up more anyway.


The Rabbi asks the lady if she knows
What this means, that strange request of hers.
Her only response is full obedience.

That’s the problem with giving
That if you give them a little, they want more.
The homeless guy wants a bottle of water,
The kid wants juice, the wife wants tea.
The kid needs a bath, the wife needs a nap.
That homeless guy on the corner again
Knows my name, but I’ve never asked him his.
One hundred eighty gallons I fill up
One sippy cup at a time.

And suddenly there is wine again,

I don’t know where it came from; only that it’s here.
And better than I remember it. Stronger,
More real, more like wine than wine.
Sweeter, more subtle, like and yet unlike
The wine I knew before. This new wine,
Is old. As old as the hills
And the old wine was very new.

Only much later do we learn

The strange Rabbi bought us the wine
And paid for it with his Blood.

I love my love, my love desires me
My Beloved’s love is mine and mine is hers
And for her I delight to pour out wine
Sweet and heady, as piercing as a kiss.
So welcome all, my friends, come forth and see
Join in, rejoicing in our joy. Draw near
Drink deeply of my Father’s choicest wines
And let your selves be overcome with Joy.