A bit mystical
or like
flamenco on the
classical
and it's
all beyond me.

I try to hotwire some
love from
the bush that's on fire
while Moses,
a face set like stone
stood all alone
takes tablets
for his
indigestion.

And I have a question
for him
unformulated as yet,
but I don't want to forget so
I write him a memo,

somehow in Toledo where
the steel is so sharp
a girl plays the harp at
the feet of Cervantes
and the windmills go round
in my head.