Moonlight Over Seville

Under the smiling half moon,

before it waxes gibbous,

shadows hint at silver and

secrets can be kept.

The cobbles glint in moonlight

after the twilit rain;

lovers take the side-streets

and dimmer cul-de sacs.

Along the Alameda,

under the drooping trees,

boys call after chicas but

mothers make reply.

Outside the grave cathedral,

where the phaetons wait:

tourists take their chances

and spring the usual traps.

On Calle Divina Pastora

there's not a sign of sheep:

just the sound of a somnolent city

under the lustrous moon.