Is it the dust ,
or the heat ?
Tequila maybe ,
or the sunrises ,
too many ?

I could listen
to the guitars
all night
while he sings
in Spainish

I'm thinking
I will understand
if I listen
long enough

I understand
the pain
in the fingers
on the strings

The pain
in the voice
The desolation
Abandonment
and the ever
present hope
for a better day

The beat
is like a heart
Constant
reliable
for the moment
anyway

Eventually
all things come
to an end

I stumble home
wishing I
could sing
in Spainish

Buenas noches
Adio digo yo !