'Sick Leave' from 'Beneath Our Feet'.

Sick Leave

I

Arriving home to a quiet house,

To clean clothes and decent food.

Each night, scorched awake from sleep

By bonfires in the blood.

II

When I lift this glass

To my lips and sip

On wine so dark and red

I close my eyes

And in my head

I cross vineyards,

Pruned and so exact.

Strings of streams

Shoelace the land.

Life is wrapped in sunshine,

Present and correct.

III

Waking up on leave I hear birds sing.

Their notes swell and swirl in circles.

I have a feeling most sublime.

Like trying to read several pages

Of favourite books all at the same time.