[I finish The Lover and we take a walk.]

I finish The Lover and we take a walk.
We head toward the new food court that just opened.
The sun sends us
to the other side of the street.
We pass by a building with a balcony
bleeding bougainvillea.
The old city peeks through the reconstruction—
an ad for perfume, leather, a liquor long ago expired.
People pack the lobby like vultures on a carcass.
A girl takes a selfie next to the bar in the center.
Everything is silver, blue, and glass.
The smell of roasted tomatoes leads us to Cichetti.
We order prosecco and tapas served on small wooden plates.
I like watching the man at the oven who makes our food.
How he moves like pleasure is his only concern.