The deep cool of a French cave
Tucked under the house
With a narrow staircase twisting down
Then wooden racks and
Bottles garnering the work of industrious spiders
The dusty smell of something lurking there
Alive behind the dirty glass
Thick whitewash caking off the walls
Old labels deteriorating with dust
Mice whispering in corners
All with a promise and expectation

American caves are different
Above ground, full of tools
Metal boxes on castors
Piled carefully on each other
Hooks and shelves for everything
The floors immaculately covered
To protect against the spills of oil
In a cupboard the neatly stacked gun cases
Waiting for apocalypse
Power lurking in the background
Sieges prepared for
Storage is there.
All ready and waiting

Where do our minds go
When the wind changes?
Which way do the waters flow
As life suddenly rearranges
Itself? Boats tie up
But there's no waiting cup
No parting glass
Only sadness
And a sense of loss.