This evening I saw a woman in the distance, in the vineyard.
Standing exactly in the middle of the rows,
precisely spaced like cornrows of a little girl in Harlem.
She stretched out to touch the sky, and then to touch the ground.
Brown, wet with rain, and rich with the minerals that make the grapes grow thick, and the wine flow sweet and fragrant.
She spread her arms wide. Like Jesus, embracing the world over Rio.
Later, I sat across from her at dinner.
I watch the trapped late evening light amid the ruby sparkles in my glass
And told her what I saw.
It was me, she said. You saw me.
And I wondered what she saw.