Chance = Change

Day Off

It stretched before us,
A freshly washed sheet of cotton
On a clean bed.

The crisp air bit
With a stinging joy
That wakened the dead
From a sleep of blue smoke.

Our lungs were full
But soon were clear,
As we breathed in the possibilities, and

We walked beneath the scarf of sky
Like a bride and groom on the way
To a long anticipated glass-smashing,
While Mother and Father
Floated above us on old chairs.