The steps of the siguiriya
Between the black butterflies
goes an olive skinned girl
next to a white snake
of snow.
Earth of light,
sky of land.
She goes chained to the trembling
of a rhythm that never reaches;
she’s got a heart of silver
and a fisted right hand.
Where you going, siguiriya,
with a rhythm with no head?
What moon will gather in
your limewash and oleander ache?
Earth of light,
sky of land.
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