The sun was so bright in Cadiz it blanched everything into a silent anger.
They were walking ahead of me, figures drenched in white
And I could see the past in the making.
The night fell, heavy and sullen, on Los Caños.
And I resigned myself to potatoes and eggs
And ketchup with a taste of regret.
The forest stretched like the rest of my life, forbidding and haunted.
And in the back seat
They weighed on my mind.
And now it’s gone.
A moment so past
It almost never happened.
What do you frame when you see memory happening?
And what do leave in your head,
Trailing like a dead dog’s tail?