Our Place in the Alhambra

Our Place in the Alhambra


Go ahead, climb up

the Alhambra brick– 


taxis can’t come here,

and the effort it takes


is only as much as

you have in mind.




How often we’ve fallen for

another algorithm for bliss,

the snake oil shill of camphor


shadows. Enough. The book

is there now, a shining blossom, 

big as a magnolia bloom. 


Blank. To be written. Yes, we

think–at last I’m back to myself.

Climb there too. The beautiful 


street vendors are selling 

therefores. The dark wine 

of place. Buy some. But


carefully pluck the book, its soft 

leather bent just enough to say, 

yes, climb the brick passages. 




It may be when you wake

you’ll believe you’ve had

a stroke, but the sunlight


in its morning patterns will

teach that’s OK as well–

the world goes on without


you, us, and that’s always 

been OK as well. A lesson in 


belonging. Everyone’s place in

the story of the Alhambra.



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