The pepper tree spilled round us from its source,
and took a lumpish this-way, that-way course,
dangling hopeful sprays of cinnabar.
You couldn't rest against the grizzled trunk;
its bulby hump and craggy, knurled scar
made you lean your weight on me instead.
The two of us were just a little drunk,
and sipped the sun-warmed wine to make us bold.
"I'd like to go to Mexico," you said,
"with you, someday, before we're too damn old,"
while in the ...