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?