evening in Santa da Magarida, Roses
Agro Spier
‘… Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness make my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begun.’
- John Donne, Complete English Poems
in Roses, Catalunya's spoil
boats
at a stone's throw distance
from the balcony
reflected in water & in the cold May
air seagulls rush in from across the Brava
on my table tapas with Queso Curado
de oveja (Boffard Resera 1/8) & Navajas
Crudes & Llimones & a dear companion
guide to poetry - thick - from Donne
to Marvell
oh complacent the Terass Coral making
wise his wise crack & the tolling verse
- 'a white thing that has lasted for a long time
is no whiter than a thing
that lasts only for a day' – the primary
& in my poetry from Roses too
the Sardanic discriptive & revolt
of a miffed heart
