This was written in Torrevieja, Spain, and was inspired by Miguel Hernandez and his time with the anti-fascist fighters during the Civil War.
Old Tower
The sun gleamed on the Old Tower.
Winter hid in the shadows as the sea
slept. I closed my eyes and let the warmth
wash my face.
With cat-stealth the cool breeze spoke.
Tales of crystal lakes, of the snow mountains
where you lay. Panting shallow steam breath.
Stomach empty as your gun. Hunger and despair.
It whispered old stories. Allegories.
Carried me to where the dead cried.
A seabird's call brought me back.
Salt had dried on my cheeks.
My arid thoughts.
Your mortal wounds.
