Philanthropic

You visit the poor, the dead
and me when you are weak.
You save your strength for the garden-

where I once lived.

We hide the grapes.
Easy enough...
they are small, (unlike)

your desire.

Never designed
to be disguised
or reduced

poured

or wasted,

you tend blossoms
of the vine

with a grace

reserved
for saints

or phil-andering
demons.