I am in Spain,
Simmering in the Andalusian sunshine,
Alone on the vine-encrusted balcony
Drinking wine from a cold stone cup,
Pricking the cactus in its pot on purpose.
You are playing your guitar in the plaza below,
The only possible thing
That can make me descend,
And I do.
You see me, too,
Rest the strings,
The hallow body,
Against the river wall,
Take me up in your arms instead,
“Don’t you understand?
This is the part I was born to play.”