Line dance to open a fete in Provence, where 
               all of the unmarried people dance in a line
               from room to room and house to house.

If stanza means a room, a poem can be a house,
a complex Latin villa with space for a carouse,
a Roman vaulted chamber, a stopping place in France,
a Portuguese position, a social thing, a stance.

And stanza means a branch on a juggler's balance pole.
Before she starts her act, she'll whirl the farandole
from room to house to square. She'll jig past gypsy bands,
upstairs, downstairs she'll wind, always holding hands,

then when she spins gilt globes we'll gaze wide-eyed until
she lands all six bright cups as we applaud her skill,
and when the wine is finished, café chairs are stacked,
a young man sweeps the street, the juggler's gear is packed.

The farandole is over. Blankets a tangled heap,
back home some brand-new lovers settle down to sleep.