Through grape-heavy trellis
we watched a city effervesce
on the river like dreaming.
We ran barefoot over smooth,
cool cobble stones,
drank wine in the sun.
The vines bloomed, hung with fruit,
were harvested, then pruned and tied.
Waiting for a new season,
the vineyard stood empty.
Snow covered steep paths and rows
above the city and the river.
Now, the cathedral bell tolls at midnight,
echoes through mist on quiet streets.
The stream flows beneath ice
by the old mill as if you never left,
and years hadn’t passed between us.