Llanes

Llanes

Do you remember the harbor

of a village in northern Spain,

the way the waves lapped

the sides of the boats

under the cries of gulls?

We looked for a place to eat,

but everywhere was full,

except for a taverna in the alley,

squares of light in the darkness,

with a table on the second floor.

We ate mussels, then roast pork

with full-bodied wine. The rain

began its delicate attack on the roof

with hands transparent as memory,

washing the sunset a gradual blue.