How Divine

Pass the salt and the cocaine, please.

Their laughs hit the tops of the trees.

The backs of the throat burned from wine.

Tobacco and lime and endless time.

Oh, how divine it is to live without a life.

Lay the wood with linen and lace.

Grace the air with a feminine trace.

How divine, I say, how it is so.

All they know is to sip and to speak.

To listen and breathe and read.

Tending their garden more so these months.

Nothing and everything is always enough.

Nothing and everything is always enough.

Oh, how divine, I say.

How divine.