Thursday, March 19, 2009

Grizzled Faces


I was crying all the time then

I cried on the Malecon

leaving Havana

I cried hearing Ferrer

his voice seasoned with cigars and rum

I cried hearing Pinero

his chapped lips blowing his trumpet

I cried with the buildings

crumbling to the ground

I cried with the ghost of Jose Marti

and his final poem

I cried with all the sadness

of the grizzled old faces

Happiness existed

as we all cried.

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