I remember when you donned
-your polka-dot dress
And danced the flamenco

Such pretty and delicate hands
-the men who play guitar
Who played flamenco

You are suddenly young again
-the older boys gather
And you dance flamenco

My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes.

I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me.
I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil.

I walked through mud. I waited for French tides.
I trudged in heavy water waders.

My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport.
The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there.

We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark.
I never learned how to drive manual.

We flew further south. I dried out in the sun.

The glands of Spanish streets pulsated
citrus mist into the air, my lungs.
I never did remember the difference between limon and lime.

We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween.
The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner.
We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore.
But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon.

Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been.

We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.

It seems so far from here and now,
Both in distance and in kind.
That place I found, through winding ways;
The time when I cared not for time.

When shadows stretched meant day was new
And as they shortened haste was made.
Butterflies played and danced and flew,
Distracting minds in need of shade.

Pain in toes and knees and hips
Dissolved all ailments of the head.
Stories poured from sun kissed lips.
Easing aches in time for bed.

I wandered back to times gone by
To grief, to love; so bittersweet.
I played them out, I laughed, I cried-
To the echoed fall of dusty feet.

In all the things I've so far learned,
Of all the 'me' I've yet to know
I've found that peace and calm is earned
Through open minds, on unknown roads.

And if the names, the talks, the places;
If they try to fade with time
I'll think of all the smiling faces;
Kindest hearts, now kept in mine.

Dear Spanish breeze,
You rolled up my inspirational sleeves.
You gave me a glorious sight and placed me in an inventive light.
I call you a thief in the night for robbing words out of my mouth.
You guide my fingertips and the lips of my pen
by kisses of daydreams and endless ideas.
I am a home where the sweetest poems abide in.
Ready to come out and imprint a thousand pages.
What a delight to travel through poetic time of this artistic city.

Dear Spanish sun,
You burned my lack of poetic desire.
You colored my inventiveness like you darkened my skin.
I admire the way you have inspired me to become the poetess i aspire to be.
Your ravishing art undressed the indecisive poetess in me.
So here I stand emotionally naked in front of written truth
ready to loose myself in your Catalan atmosphere.
"Rest your ears darling and let your eyes whisper poetic visuals," you say.
And i close my eyes. I travel through this dream till forever ends.

Eight pounds of thorough *******
split between two brothers of Zaragoza, Spain
the love for substance has lost all of it's hope
time for family split between hours of dope
there was a newborn with wings, without a full day
because the love for substance stood directly in the way.

Ojos de pasado
ahogados en lágrimas y dudas de antaño,
tiéndeles la mano
ámalos sin reparo.
Manos temblorosas
sonrisa en busca y captura
felicidad y vida viviendo una ruptura.
Dale cariño a esa fragilidad
hasta que el sol poniente sea acariciado por el mar.