el castille del barcelona

hispanic music wafts in through
the open window. i live in town n cuba
so there's a lot of that.
i keep the windows open anyway.
hoping that doesn't sound racist.
or ignorant.
the spires of  la temple of la sagrada familia
rising still
on  my mirror, a postcard holding
dreams both fulfilled and deferred i can't believe
you made it there i'm so envious.
in a good way. i've had the card seven years now
all our cells from that time gone in a clone well
not really. we aren't now mulitples of seven.but you understand
the concept, ey?

i dunno even know if castille is the right word.







but temple of the holy family is genuis. guadi, you died too young.





















*^

i glance at the bed,see us there
mornings, finding solace in wrapped
and held. our broken bodies healed
the length of  embrace.

 i shouldn't write
in here, really. too many
ghosts in this space.
three of them smile from the pillows now
with one more of you helping yourself
to a pen and paper., recording it all.

whee does love go
if it doesn't die?
lamp's soft yellow glow seen
through a window from the sidewalk.
the sheen of polished oak
sunlight filtering through golden hair
on the stoop outside, the crunch of hot wheels
over gravel, tiny laughter.



he loves me so much more than you did, mostly.














*()()()()()((((




there's whooping in back now.
it's get to know your neighbor time
in paradise park. from the new lanai
you can see through the blinds of your single
neighbor, but you don't look even though
she can't tell if you're watching or not
and doesn't really seem to care but your wife does.

















*(^^^^^








the spires delicately pile up
above barcelona's empty streets.
it is dawn, the tourists are still asleep.
 merchants  slowly unlock
  metal shutters, coffee brews
 in their kitchens, chairs await
  unstacking. the eastern sun
hits the golden face of the temple
and the towering crane begins
working on dribbling
 the next, taller one.
i teach my granddaughter
how to do this with sand
on the edge of the gulf of mexico.
the ocean always lets us begin anew.
























*(((())))







i walk around oblivious to signs of life
from outside my field of thought, sort of like
the way you drive when i'm stoned. i don't know
if you're good or bad for me, contentment
is a boring master. maybe that's why
your relationship with money is so tenuous
to keep happiness on its leash?

number ten home and kitchen seller is a soda maker.
when you don't want to be bothered with the drive through
number twenty two is presidential toilet paper. less than ten bux.
perfect for the tea partier in your life. ima get it for my BIL.



for lunch it's tuna and corn chips. an after meal
smoke on the porch. sun moves in star plane
steradians over tangles  of privacy here in the park.
the wild palm reaches towards my window,quietly.
 middle aged oak spreads her pollen in her shade.
la familia behind us have grilled the food and taken it
and  their plaintive music inside. their windows
must be closed. it's so quiet here now, in your embrace.
sagrada con reyos del cielo.

























^%$$