on vacation–
is the letting go of time.
To sit, dozing in
a garden in France–
only half listening to
the cows mooing
as cows do even in the Loire,
to the neighbors cheering
a goal on satellite TV–
is to let go of geography,
of all the trouble
and expense we go
through to be somewhere–
tickets, long flight,
guidebooks. Today
let the cathedrals
go unseen with
their stained
glass & reliquaries–
bits of bone
as small & white
as the sugar cubes
I stirred this morning
in my café noir.
The coffee that is not
keeping me awake
as I doze–one sleeper
on a planet where
half the world is always
sleeping. Nap–
surrounded by
rolled Rs as bees
ronflent & a single
fat French fly robinets
at the window.