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.