the sounds of silence

i'm pretty sure that after the break,

i sweated every tear i had inside of me.
wore every wound blushing until i couldn't breathe.
oxidized my heart so it would carbonize cold.

i'm pretty sure that after the break,
i was broken.
like shards of metal.
hard. cold. greening.

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but,
in this madrid heat,
i'm as sure as sure can be that
warmth brings life into my veins,
pumps the pressure high,
gathers greens y llevando yellows
brings browns only to revive them red

and while i can't tell you how this science of contentment works,

i can verify that now that i am living color

like immigrants from morocco
and white balancing my camera,
i am eating pales of pale pink grapefruits,
and mature maroon melocotones,
browsing with brown eyes through tenacious transparent fountains,

catching the cityscape alive in madrid's golden eye,

---

and while in these last eight days i have already begun
to cast mis ojos towards my feet,
(heavy and warm from running and wondering if treadmills can mask the pain of leaving)

i know that whatever my playlist sings,
when i take my last look, during the last hook, at my bag of things,
only simple sounds will ring wealthy and warm in mis orejas,

because panting pumping pulses are bound (like shoelaces to hightops),
to pray faithful to city sounds that birthed them,

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when the time comes,
soon enough,
i hope the ipod dims,
and the door slams just right.

i want to hear
my silent chorus
chiming and chanting,

thank you
thank you
thank you

and my heart skipping beats down the four flights i've climbed every morning, noon, and night,
here,
in madrid.

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