Gray days
Where the clouds take their leisure
And the sun might have a chance

And you are stuck, in your car, on the road
Like a fly on glass, skating over the imaginary
Possible

The vineyard with its white linens
Pruned back, soldiers in an army

So you get out, take a breath
And another

Underfoot they are dancing
The flowers taking the first reel

And you are the maypole

© Poetry by Giles Denmark (Mitchell) · 17 March 2008