vineyard

on the side of the hill
the grapes grow like eyes in the dark.
this year i started craving grapes.
i fill bowls. learn to swallow them
like great beads. a rosary without
a string. i imagine a vineyard
all to myself. the vines, like lost 
jump ropes. the snake who eats 
his tail. i could walk there in 
the moonless-dark to see all the world
wide open. i have gotten less hungry 
with age that is except for grapes.
i want to be so full of grapes that
the vines mistake me for a great fruit. 
that they try to feed me light color & crush.
my lover tells me i cannot buy
any more grapes. the fridge is full
to the gills. i weep. what will i do when
my hunger returns? when i am armless
& have to slither through the brush?
i wash them in the sink. hold them
up to the light. at first i prefered
the green ones but lately i have needed
deep purple grapes to fall asleep. 
once when i worked at the apple orchard
they sent me to the vineyard a few fields down 
instead. the people were different there.
everyone had grapes for eyes. they plucked 
them out to work without all the sun.
i watched them grow-back. a soft swell.
i woke up in the middle of the following night
to check that i still had eyes & not fruit. 
in the mirror i saw the vineyard behind me,
large & outstretched. i turned around
& walked the rows. maybe i never came back.
here i am though, a grocery store ghost
chasing a sugar night. i put one in my mouth
& it blinks.