Andalusian Dream
Closing my eyes to find
the cobalt sky reaching down to touch
the sea, not knowing whither it ends
or begins
Searching along the shore near Malaga
I hear her shoes tapping
like we were back in Seville and
buying dresses off the streets
Slipping feet in and out of moving sand
Keep raining on, pouring on
Forcing us inside, forcing us to see
ourselves from the outside in
from windows above the dunes
Wait for me, I’ll be there soon
Walking, still walking
I’m coming, running now
I’ll be there
Wait for me,
I’ll find it again
My pink carnation
From that Andalusian summer.
©Prasanta Verma, January 2016
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