Poetry at home

In France
I lived and breathed the poetry
of cobbled streets, street markets filled
with fresh picked blackberries, handmade
soaps, baguettes, fennel sausage and endless
arrays of cheeses.
I lived and breathed the poetry of rural landscape,
medieval castles, stone homes clinging perilously
to steep mountainsides,
billions of stars, the moon circling overhead.
I did not need to create poetry,
I lived and breathed it.