Nestled in the hills we lay
All summer long in wheat,
Nothing moving but the hay,
Midges frozen on the heat,
Not a human world, but still,
The cattle graze, the clouds divide
In shadows on our hill
By the hazy riverside.
Despite the lazy sky,
A threatened drought
Had passed us by,
Although no doubt
Some hidden fault
Lines in the reservoir
Would come to catapult
Us both away so far
That, in retrospect,
If it seems naive
And all too perfect,
Nonetheless,
Which of us would ever leave?
January 30th, 2005
rue de Varenne