The Laundry Line

I'll take you to a field with an infinite laundry line
Where the clothes can hang low
And tempt the grass with their soft caresses
Where the wind comes and goes
Passing idly and wanting
We'll hang our cares beside the sheets
We'll leave them up until they dry
And when they're clean, we'll stain them again
With our pensive thoughts and fleeting dreams
We'll let the sun burn our skin
Until they're the color of fresh earth
We'll smell the bleach-scented breeze
And pretend we're as clean as laundered clothes
We'll sleep through the passing afternoon
And wake up to a crepuscular sky
Then, one by one, we'll take down
The blankets, the shirts, and the underwear
We'll take a second to linger at their softness
Before we put them in a neat pile
And then we'll walk slowly for home
Smelling of the sun and the grass and the bleach

Image from http://www.someartfabric.com/art/KokkaCompany/JG-55200-201B.jpg