Dordogne August 7th

  Dawn arrives,stiff breeze, growling of thetraffic old olivestands sentinel: beached, as I amby fate’s fickle finger. Swallow’s swoopthe pool line memoriescreep in you & Iso young, the childrenat our feet. Did we everdream of this? Palms wave;the house sleeps,, but I,still alive leap fromtangled sleep to salutehow we lived & loved here.