Ascension in the bazaar of Torremolinos
at my feet,
Mare Nostrum pulls a skirt of red roofs
over its restless blue sleep
I decide not to buy today all the sandals
from the Pikolinos store
and I climb up the road instead
against the torrent of people
tormented by heat

I wonder what will be left of these faces
agitated pentagrams
animated clichés
how easily will their prints be obliterated
and how accurate will be
la sagrada restauración in the afterlife

I stop by a rocky amalgam
penetrated insidiously by hostage roots
thinking of the civil war
and as I turn around the corner
an oak erects from in the burning asphalt
its branches sagging with fuzzy aments
quercus sessiliflora

Let it shower acorns
and completely cover the traces of discord
in each and every Spanish family

In Café Marijuana I sip at my expresso
planning an exhaustive study
of the nearby art gallery
and here I am browsing every catalogue
looking at artworks
in search for the colour revelation

Amidst the heterogeneity of graphic signs
I discover the resignation expression
of the oil imprint in a portrait
woman partially dressed in vermilion skirt
draped over the hip rebellion
a gold lizard dozing off on the hot ankle

And the evening closes around
deepening dark signatures in the skin
where time coagulates its signs of passage

(Published in Sage of Consciousness E-zine)