by Kate Kingston

I've worked a lifetime to build
a patio of azulejos with you
at the center. I've grouted the seams,
polished the surface, counted
the squares that surround
you like garden walls. I've brought
you avocados and tomatillos,
inhaled the aroma of masa wafting
from your kitchen. I remember
the basket of limes on the windowsill,
your shawl in the alcove,
your notebook on the nightstand,
my suitcase open on the bed.
I want to return to the slope of ceiling,
the brilliance of blue, the aroma
of cilantro, saffron, cinnamon.
I want the sky airbrushed pink
with blossoms. I want to return
to the woman framed in the doorway,
her soft denim thighs, her boots
of campo leather, my chiaroscuro
shadow leaning over her shoulder.


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