Barcelona.
My love.
Mi amor.

Carrying butterflies
in the palm of her hand,
the dust from its wings
in her eyes.          In my eyes.

The sun rising over Placa Espana,
the cradle of her alleyways; she
speaks to me as if she is my soul, telling me
of her great journey
through summers
and in and out of long days,
telling me of her youth and beauty.           Telling me she loves me.
That she is always here.

Barcelona, mi amor.
Hold me now
through the night.