Coming Home to Story

We came here once,

            footloose for a day,

                        to wander in the city.

Now I’m on my own

            and passing through

                        to somewhere else.

I walk to Plaza Nueva

            past La Gran Taverna

                        and stop in my tracks.

Your smiling face hangs

            in the misty window

                        next to my reflection.

“Don’t you remember?

            It’s not so long ago,”

                        you seem to say.

“We had dinner here

            and laughed so much

                        we could hardly eat.

That was a good day.

            But it was before.

                        I wish I could stay.”

I blow you a kiss

as your face fades away,

                                    leaving the scent of your hair.

                  There’s magic in the moonlit air;

I look around the bustling square

                                    and suddenly you’re everywhere.