France.(Poem)

 
France 
 
   Surrealist of hedgerows, Baudelaire 
   Of weeds blown low within a hunter's brake, 
   Kite of sorrow in a small boy's frown, 
   And truffle scent beneath a winter lake, 
 
   How can I solve you? How can I begin 
   To push my breath out of your counterpane? 
   Who wrote the numbers on the widow's back 
   And tied my language to your liquid train? 
 
   Maze of computers, St. Joan of closed doors, 
   The skidding sound a thought makes in the dark, 
   Red wine of the internet, marshland of the Alps, 
   Tunnel of grass that hides a meadowlark, 
 
   Who placed those coffins ...