Barcelona Diary

Tita Avendano

As she strokes her guitar

a shy, young fox, curled in the comfort of her lap, tenderly licks
a rich & ruby wine from her breasts.

There's a hint of a man with green shoes & a taste for needles, signs
of a frail woman culling kittens under her eaves.

Though she rarely abandons hope, a peacock guards her chance advances,
drives wolves & locusts from her womb.

There's a dark streak easing up her back, through her hair & into her eyes.
I've seen these signs before & am sure she must sleep in a hail of bees.