we had wine
rose wine, pink
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 rose
in glasses, Provence
in glad glissandos
and glory