Drop me off here, I tell Tom and Serge.
During a long day together in Beaune —
the medieval hospital, tasting wine
in a dim and loamy cellar –
company curtailed my noticing
and drew attention I gladly gave away.
Just as gladly now, I’ll walk alone
these last few kilometers
back to our inn in Chateauneuf.
Summer’s hay is already baled,
and the slow sinking sun paints
fields saffron where deer creep
from the forest edge to nibble grass
and white Burgundian cows
low their elegy for the day.
Now, as I eat blackberries
from untouched vines,
a symphony of cowbells calls my attention
back to me. My true travel happens here
on this quiet country lane, a horse
approaching the pasture fence
to beg a windfall apple,
and all I want to know of France
is this late summer day,
this last golden light
on the road back to Chateauneuf.
The Kingdom of Enough 