To Savor Poem by Richard Bunch

wine, slowly swallow. Savor breezes yellow
in shoulder-high mustard and in
fields where summers rise.

Savor the courage of one who outlasts
the sluggish times of average tyranny.

Savor each moon that rises blue
through the bodies of woodland pines.

Through the slow drip of winter
foretaste once again new wine feelings.

Know too there are rhythms that elope
and savor laurels filled with sunlight
in this streamlined waste of hurry and bury.