I buried
my roots
in new-age 
spirituality. 

It nourished me
with words
like *water,
soil
sunshine*
and promised 
a harvest. 

They say
*the hand
that points 
to the moon,
is not 
the moon*
and I was thirsty. 

My entitlement
told me
I should not
be humbled 
by a glass
of water
when what 
I desire
is a 
spring. 

Well the spring
never came
and my 
cup became
just another
empty glass. 

Now I've
stepped off
my hedonic 
treadmill. 

My frail
body was
not designed
to withstand
the aches
of running. 

I'm a 
tall woman,
albeit small.

I was built
to see
the little things
from great heights. 

And so it became
my glass of water
turned to wine.