I am basking in
A red Barcelona sun
Standing on the fourth
Floor balcony
Of my green and white
Checker tiled room.
A finger to my lips
and Sangria on my tongue
The rod iron smooth
under my fingertips
and I twist and twist
my hands around their
sturdiness
The morning air
Smells of coffee
Mingling with flowers
The light sweeps the night
From my watery eyes
Like a wire brush
looking down the streets below
a view of a city
I've just begun to know
The people walk with
Gentle purpose or idle perusal
Through the weaving cobbled streets
I want to uncover all her secrets
I want to replace my heart with
newness
The morning walkers’ noise
Helping me to forget
What stays quiet
Across the Atlantic.
