i share your words,
i listen to happiness,
to discontent that carries
across the ocean.
but you, but i,
am interrupted

four days of clouds,
towels and pants
making hallway maneuvering unmanageable,
the sky breaks free
and we have ourselves a sunny day

we walk along our crowded street,
stop at the museum
that creeps Isabella out,
that brings out
your Byzantine God
(i take pictures of all but the mummy)

the store beckons
our grumbling stomachs
where we find cheap pastries
and German beer,
making everyone happy enough
for a quick bar stop

my girls play in trees,
scattering flowers along the
“aisle” of their wedding,
become petulant when
boys from their class arrive
and beg to play futbol
on their perfectly decorated locale

your words follow me through the day,
so long lost over weeks, months,
the venting disgruntlement,
the loving goodbye,
just as if i stood in that
hotel hallway holding your hand,
as if i weren’t here
hearing only the Spanish version
of everything i needed to say