As good as Spanish wine, I’ve seen
the landscape’s eyes. It’s neither green by the sea
or dry by Madrid but it’s blocked and tiled like
castles. I cannot judge the square of Spaniards.
Ciego to culture are my foreign friends. Picturing
how stuck they are. In their head:
the idea of dejando is worse than yendo.
My city shines; but Barcelona is better. Spain—
Yo soy parte de esta.