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.
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