Pale shadows sweep the solitary moon.
It is Spring, dark fig leaves swoon among bright parakeets,
seated on loosening branches.
At midday, white- washed walls reflect the heat.
Sitting on a cool stone, smooth-worn seat,
drinking litres of rough-hewn wine.
After siesta, cross shadowy, echoing piazzas.
Contemplate ancient church that dominates the plaza,
smell drifting scent of oranges and limes.