Things are different in the country.

Hum of city far behind. We drive two hours

and leave behind our Paris , plus vite a Pressigny.

Roads curve. A paved and dusty octopus all leading

to the same place; the long arms that circle the town

that lead to the high-road of the castle where the fossils

rest in their cases speaking traces of history long ago exposed

without permission.

Life could be lonely here but I could take it.

I would watch the fronts moving in, always missing

just in time our greenhouse climate – a protectant.

But without your feverish love would I thrive

as the passionflowers that climb about my house

or would I simply be ~ a quasi-hermit,

my small ascetic hut and me so celibate and pure: pure as water, pure as air.

My long hair uncut, greyed and red tenting each letter home.

Darling, life is calm, life is good, but God I miss you.

09/24/05 , Pressingy, France