I planted a story

A book never stops being a tree,
you can read its breath between lines,
count the rings along its worn spine,
trace ink-stained roots 
to its beginning.

I planted a story in the soil
in the hopes that you’d dig it up
and let it grow within your mind
as you leaf through the pages 
I kept alive.
 

 

Granada

saying goodbye to someplace
that can’t say it back,
not mute, but always busy
churning rowdy night into cloudless day
like a heart pumping blood by memory

I forgive you as you gave me 
all you have worked to offer:
your fortress paradise balanced on a hill,
your plucked guitar strings and visceral cries,
your smiles crinkled and glass bottles full 

thank you for nestling me in your stripes, 
in your proud blanket of red and yellow,
I never once shivered in your spring,
an eternal season suddenly expired
but leaving a savory taste on my tongue

hasta luego, Granada, mi amorcito 
nos conocemos de nuevo algún día