The sketching traveler
I am a sketching traveler in Normandy
That is in and out of hotels with bag
Pretending to investigate painting, observing the scenery
Being light of heart, no worry about tomorrow’s schedule
Stop because of a stream
Enter a store because of the smell of fried potatoes
Date in a hole full of grass
Or on the ear of wheat with daytime temperature
The skin in the grey cloth is extreme elastic
Field, forest, rising sun, evening glow, moonshine
I wander in a small village named Penu
Between Ybor and Aira
The coast is high and steep, like a great city wall,
Stepping on delicate grass, singing,
Faraway many fishing boat,
Dark green sea, brownish red sail,
Thick wild chrysanthemum and poppy
There is a steepled bell tower in the village
Around it sea gulls fly and tweet
Meanwhile I can sit beside a mouth of a spring,
Bend to sip and make the nose tip and mustache wet,
Allowing me to assume freely with whom I am kissing.