(For Toni)
Zen click. Zen click. Zen click.
Knitting needles natter in the corner. We recline
over books and a dusky bottle
around the peeling wooden table at your cousin’s villa , St Saturnin.
The Mistral shifts in, ruffles our papers and
shuffles our hair -
We are happily baffled
by the mysteries and complexities
of Provencal syrah
and of the heart.
This poem first published in the Wanaka Sun.
Check out some other Poetry Atlas poems about Provence.