Toledo & Wings

2003; a day spent in Toledo, Espana gave life to this poem and really, that it only produced one from me is a fault of my own, not the majesty of Toledo

Toledo & Wings

 

The sound

is that of

black and wings

 

squealing and stuck

to stone spires,

frozen in ascencion.

 

The sun saturates los dias,

heedless to the headless

mass of mossing statues

-los santos de esperanza

and tortured endings!

 

Toledo spirals

into calles ocultados,

twisting up to boundaries

in waiting,

 

el cielo,

a study

in stillness,

 

the scent,

la primavera y cafe.

 

The black

and wings

are resting now

and whispering --watching!

 

They siesta from the staining

of el azul ancho with their feathered specks

--in its endlessness,

 

they are stark soaring

la vida so suitably equipt.

 

Toledo! Toledo!

mira, ahora los bastidores

on negro y apartado otra vez,

cercano siempre como

la esperanza and torture.