in an outdoor canopied courtyard
the evening air laden with moisture,
cool but quite comfortable.
The wine was divine
the bisque marvelous
attended as it was
by a salad of careful subtlety,
and a bread of perfection.
The enclosing walls must once have been a family’s retreat
the bricks ancient,
gnarled ivy on the furthest wall.
She wondered what was behind her and asked
“What do you see in the view behind me”?
“Oh”, he said quickly, as if surprised by the question,
He craned his neck to look beyond her.
“Just the street”, he said
and returned to his meal.
She felt a tiny pang of guilt
for having inadvertently taken the better seat.
When they rose to leave, their meal finished,
She turned and looked at the unseen view.
“Oh my god”, she thought to herself, taken aback.
The masonry here was just as rugged and beautiful
and gripped an old wrought iron gate,
framed in a massive arch,
through and beyond which portal
lie a cobblestone street,
hand-cut granite curbs,
and period piece cast iron streetlamps,
each pooled in a warm embracing glow.
She saw before her an enchanted place of romance and intrigue,
of sweet trysts,
of stolen hours of happiness,
and reluctant goodbyes in the early morning hours.
Could this really be “just a street”?
For the millionth time
as she peered in his eyes
and he looked back at her,
she wondered what, exactly, it was that he saw.