How could I have known
Down cobbled streets, that
When we seek, that
That. Which is, without
Words
How could I have known
The beat you would
Keep pressing on
My life
At the long stretch
Of every dawn
How could I have known,
The gauche
Moorish ghosts haunting the cathedrals of my heart
Blood stains these hands,
of Isabella and Ferdinand,
These hills, this snow cast crag,
In Roma you remain, as I was
A century ago.
Home.
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