A Night in Spain
Remember when we were in Spain?
and we went to that little town?
with the old monastery?
and the good restaurant with the stew?
and the Roman ruins?
You loved me so much then.
You love me so much still.
You think so much of me.
It makes no sense.
When I wandered through the city,
the empty city, abandoned since you left me,
staring at the strange, familiar buildings,
walking as if cast in shadow,
I remember the night in Aleppo,
in Syria, in Rome, your body
merged with mine as we walked the
empty streets of Siena in September.