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by Fred Moramarco
In the walking light of Andalusia
where the water weeps through the night
I climb the cobbled steps of the Albacin
with my son. His eyes burn with poems.
The earth pulls at our blood.
We find a Moroccan teahouse,
sit in a corner and sip Pakistani tea
from tall, slim, silver-latticed glasses.
We talk of the strange turns of life
that have brought us to this place
in the shadows of the Alhambra
where cats roam the fabled stones.
Here, in Lorca's town, he is finding his life.
Our eyes meet in a glistening gleam.
I have always been here with him-
in Andalusia, where the light walks,
the water weeps, and my son's eyes burn with poems.
from Men of Our Time: An Anthology of Male Poetry in Contemporary America Click here for more information on this anthology.
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