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ESPANA
There’s a dark thing lurking
beneath the eaves
of a red tiled roof.
The dogs are disturbed as
the dark thing
sweeps swiftly past.
The dogs are barking,
sounding alarms,
warning of the dark thing:
hidden,
watching,
waiting,
para mi...
I sleep in a pueblo,
vast and still
inside a living Picasso.
The dark thing peers
through the skylight,
the dogs are howling,
España As She Sleeps
The heat is escaping
white washed walls and
narrow cobbled roads
The old Arabic castle sighs
in an ancient patience
that only ruins do have.
The dark thing knows
every crevice every tower,
every twilight view,
de la vega ... “of the plains”
olive grove and sunflower.
España, as she sleeps,
The dark thing flies from
Carmona to La Cala
el mebusca,
to watch me ahora in this time.
The dogs are whining,
the dogs are crying.
No one can see
or even sense
the dark thing.
I am awakened by the wailing
of the sad but loyal dogs,
their masters have checked
and doubled checked,
but they see,
and they sense,
no thing.
The dark thing is unconcerned,
they all have no existence
worth the interest of this One,
awakened by,
España, as she sleeps...
I, awake,
remember a dream,
only one scene can I vividly recall:
a dark thing in the
highest corner of the ceiling,
huddled inside the lofty pueblo,
clinging somehow,
sadly secure,
a dark thing with
the face of an angel,
wings folded over
like a cloak thrown
to cover each shoulder
and He is with me,
the Dark Thing,
as I sleep.
The dogs are quiet.
España, as she sleeps...
credits
released July 19, 2011
poetry by Yvonne de la Vega
written and produced by Yvonne de la Vega
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all rights reserved