The breeze smells of saffron and cyprus shrubs,
Silent men with starved eyes and foreign tongues
Nap in shaded caves beneath Alhambra.
I pluck a kitten from the Inula,
Hold her body writhing, she’s hardly mine,
And when she leaps, she’s nobody’s again.
On the ascent, I’m worn, my calves are cakes
Powdered with fine silt. The ascent, I am alone.
Running my hands along terra cotta,
This city, she’s had many proud lords
Robed in furs and silks. They’ve built their churches.
They’ve impregnated the land with herds of sheep.
They’ve sent strong men to dam the melting snow,
To watch it flood in spring and wet their castles.
I’m sorry I left you in the alley.
I find myself beconded by high places,
A mare unbroken or a restless child.
Called up by the great blue velvet curtain.
The taste of lavender and burning peat,
The rolling amber hills, inherited
By these princes or husbands or tyrants,
But owned by no one but her desires.