The setting sun of Andaluz wipes tears off a face like it does light from olive tree tops
and coats tiled old-city techos in bluish-black
My words swim in air thick with ecstacy and anguish
In the sheer gravity of pecho-prayer pined-for, prayer centuries silenced, prayer echoed eternal:
the sun is pulled to its momentary cushion of stars.
and her eyes close in scarf-soft peace
as her lips lace incantation in the wind