From Salamanca

Today I walked in a city you loved me in once.

The ghost of us like that first Cathedral —

silent, but at the center of everything.

The place that gave birth to this city,

made it North Star for anyone needing something

to believe in.


You live in some other world, now.

And I live here, still, in the wound

of you.


Tell me, have you forgotten it all?

Or are you still running in circles

around another city you loved me in,

are you still sweating out the me in you,

like I am?

How often do you think about me?

How long has it been since you’ve said my name?


I still think about what we could build,

like those saints did;

how we could outlast everything

around us; how monumental and beautiful and resilient

this love could be.

They could call us a UNESCO World Heritage site, too.

People would pay their loose change to

climb centuries old staircase after staircase

just to see the world all laid out before them,

on the rooftop of this holy thing we could call ours,

just to see from where we could be standing.


But you live in some other world, now.

And I live here, still, in all the places you’ve never loved me back in.


Tell me, have you forgotten it all?

Tell me, are you still running?

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