In Madrid for the weekend I’m free
for a reading by Raúl Zurita from Chile.
All the terraces are full,
tattoos ring everyone’s arms,
a great spill of plaits
from the girl toasting bread
at La Libre Bookshop & Café.
I’m reading Edna St. Vincent Millay
the ceiling fan spins in the glass
as the light pours pure
through the afternoon and I wonder
when will I see the rain again?