We had wine
rosé wine, pink
and blushing with
laughing joy in the midst
of a light crushing.

We were in Provence,
and it was warm and sultry
but not thick or sweaty
in that yellow light seeping 
out of the ruddy dirt.

It’s a long time
to where we were 
from here in Salamanca,
midst minarets and tall turrets
of sandy stone…

but I can still
pour rosé in glasses,
Provence in glad glissandos
and glory.