Catedral de Santa María de la Sede - rough draft

The tower feels like a memory

its mossy stilt 

piercing the short spikes of 

gargoyle noses and the staffs

of statued saints.

I remember the feeling of

its brick ramp. Where horses 

climbed and conducted

ninety degree hallway turns.

It feels like work. Like patient defeat.

Like arabic engraved on the wall below.

Like the Incan gold altar that is beautiful but stolen.

Embajadores Violin

The Andalusian busker's
daily siesta is a song
through the thin vein of the yellow line.

In between each murmur,
she says "This instrument is
as old as Spain! My CD is only three Euro!"

The violin lay smooth
on the edge of her veil.
It keeps the tempo against the tinny

pings of ten cent coins in
it's case. I want to hold the
instrument by its base like

a fat disc. I want to pluck the strings.
I want to be on the list of its curious touchers:
with careful toddlers, and Spanish bohemians