These Andalusian Streets

We walk these Andalusian streets

Sun-drunk and happy

The buildings bend so close

They nearly kiss us as we pass

We drink in the clashing passions

The cycles of civilization: conquered and conqueror

The mosaic of beauty and devastation

Left in its wake

Footsteps and castanets echo

Their ancient rhythms

Through the hills and in the caves

Decades of duende borne on their feet

Our own belabored steps a

Poor reflection of the struggle

We had no need to bear

Yet we sigh at the view from the top

Happy for the climb

We marvel in the night markets

We ponder in the palaces

We satiate on the small plates

And ogle at the sites

The ornate bridges and the walls

That have both welcomed and

Stymied more fearsome, more fervent hosts

Than we have need to be

And maybe the world is kinder

Than it was or maybe we are just

In a better position to receive it

And to be received

But these Andalusion streets feel

Warm and comforting even as

Their stones and traditions feel cold, harsh

For even after centuries of monarchs and oligarchs

We remain

Sun-drunk and happy. Pensive and gratified.