curled on the kitchen sofa in a cave of cool vegetables, heat rises from our bedroom warm on outstretched feet too many coffees - why too early, morning came sudden, explicative against the sleeping city slowly place a love letter to feel the ritual beating within the endless lines of newly woken pages
from country marked barren by eroded dune granada glows as a candle lit dining table set over bread that is the land broken geometric shapes burn into the living rooms of the hill yet, one home stands alone like cracked ceramic tile, a frequent one-eyed cat lying flat along the riverbed
blackbirds in quiet hoards float like pieces of mind through clear blue sky marked by moving holes in the walls of old buildings riding firmly along the hill a cool breeze off the fountain stirs a man descending over his guitar, scattering the voices of women carrying the square couples perched along stone hardly take notice of the scene that was painted here, only to rest when love grows still
voices stumble over stones, a vacuum from the river of faces gathered slowly as headless eyes turn to meet the sound of an old language, left among the chairs
light re-birthed across the land from ribbons over the foothills dropping from giant spools of sky, and seamlessly gone as eyes retreat upwards breath held aloft, caught in stillness slipping down stairs of broken streets beneath a crimson ridge, baked by sky hastening home on hot smashed figs the spoiled scents rise to meet me
city tightly wound round cathedrals pinnacles of thought, eyes hiding in stones, yet un-seized by the heat running off the brows of white walls
from a small collection of poems i wrote and re-found from living in granada, spain 6 years ago. reminded me to write more poems because it brings back more memories of that time than any of the other writing i did, or even the photos.