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.