On my way to Aranjuez I stopped in Toledo
to dry the tears of the thousand lily stained glass
on bullet bitten walls
and to watch one more time how Count Organza
abandons himself into El Greco’s shroud
I shared the picnic with my close friend soledad
just tapas, water and fruits
among cactuses on the granite ravine
my heart divided between the Aranjuez guitar
and the olive waters of Tagus river
By the time the hemorrhagic dusk
started counting Reconquista’s golden swords
chipped in Franco’s time
the sadness stirred such a civil war in me
that it didn’t make sense to head to the Palacio
Real
unless victorious
