A Week's Vacation to the Country in June

It is not a voyage
of self-discovery or a keen
time of reflection or an escape
from a noisy world
to simple things
and truths.

you wake up again
and that is all. This is
what you find

on Monday
a field of fireflies
just as you dreamed it
in February. Now you can say

I had a dream come true.

on Tuesday
you turn on the radio
and at the end of the day
after all day

you remember how or
for the first time

you listen
to the radio.

on Wednesday
tea and rain and
it is enough.

sweet Wednesday.

on Thursday
life's details. A scoop of pondwater
its own small universe. Dragonflies
drying new wings
next to their former selves
molted, discarded.

You see it. You do not miss the point.

Friday comes
with a walk back home. Since Monday
every blackberry bough
is a wedding cascade of white flowers and you
are drenched
in their singular perfume
you are maddened with it
it knows this
and evolved its thorns
to keep the naked and singing
epicureans at bay. Cavort
somewhere else.

But this is Friday
you have come this far

you do not wait to wake up again. You
just go
in the moonlight
to Monday's field
in the blackberry perfume
and a hundred fireflies
are now a thousand
and you can hear
the creek this time and
two bullfrogs
going back and forth and
just as you begin to leave
to go home
from the nearest hill
coyotes
wild with singing

you smile
at no one
your heart
is happy
you know

its not special
or a miracle
or a reward
or a gift
for you

its just itself

and you had the good sense
to come to it.