Tuesday, December 13, 2022


Twenty-four years old,
First time in Europe,
On the Continent,

That is, he wound up
In Barcelona,

No companions, no
Wristwatch or guidebook,
Not an innocent

Person, but naïve
In that place, strolling
Right up to the spires

Of La Sagrada
Familia, never
Having heard of it,

And what, in God’s name,
Was this cake of waves,
This twirling tonnage,

This curvy stonework,
Gorgeously ugly
As the cover art

For some alien
Fantasy novel,

Serving piety
On an urban plate?

There’s nothing better
To travel for than
To be stunned in place.

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