I wrote this on the Mediterranean beach of Nerja around midnight. Just got around to posting it.
My camera lens is useless.
Any level of aperture can’t capture
the flecks of forgiveness the water presents
in a photo-invisible, lavender air of honesty.
The pace of my mind has gone from
the mean streets of flamenco
to the separation of cliff and crystal clear water—
that warm sea parting my eyes from the south of Spain
to Africa’s glowing horn.
This place is a dream world
and I, la sonámbula, float aimlessly, contently
from fantasy to reality,
testing all that is pleasing to me
and dozing back into the doorway of my dream come true.
I’ve done it.
What’s more, I’ve abandoned all that is comfortable
for all that is ordained for me and my wandering heart.
Mi poesía es libre
y mi corazón esta abierto.
No iambic pentameter can fully express
the artistry in my adventure in solitude
or the realizations of my voyage.
Pressing on through border after border
and listening to each dialect whispering intonations
of pensiveness and inner truth.
This scene of sensation; the waves kissing my feet,
the scent of jasmine and wet stone,
cannot be recreated but in my mind
to visit again and again
wherever la sonámbula ventures.