We eat grapes and recite old words to each other. Our bodies are cold and rounded. Dionysus dispenses wine all over the floor. Each spill is a realization, and we speak more of the dead. We do not know what they meant by these words, but we do know the words themselves. We know them in the physical processes of saying, just as we know the crushing of the fruits in our bellies, the long fermenting, and the filling up of cups.
Sometimes when we are aging the wine, we recite epics to each other and to ourselves, over and over again.