Our Place in the Alhambra


Go ahead, climb up
the Alhambra brick–

taxis can’t come here,
and the effort it takes

is only as much as
you have in mind.


How often we’ve fallen for
another algorithm for bliss,
the snake oil shill of camphor

shadows. Enough. The book
is there now, a shining blossom,
big as a magnolia bloom.

Blank. To be written. Yes, we
think–at last I’m back to myself.
Climb there too. The beautiful

street vendors are selling
therefores. The dark wine
of place. Buy some. But

carefully pluck the book, its soft
leather bent just enough to say,
yes, climb the brick passages.


It may be when you wake
you’ll believe you’ve had
a stroke, but the sunlight

in its morning patterns will
teach that’s OK as well–
the world goes on without

you, us, and that’s always
been OK as well. A lesson in

belonging. Everyone’s place in
the story of the Alhambra.

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