In the cathedral
Of the castle
In old Ibiza town
With San Juan Pablo
Or Saint John Peter
To you, to me
A happy looking chap
With a rod, with a wave
Wearing a golden gown
His place built by cheap labour
Slaves most likely
According to my friend
Who I must say is not one
To give good grace to the church
In any circumstances
And after climbing all those steps
Struggling up those steep cobbled inclines
There is little or no chance of forgiveness
Almost all alone now
The inner pool, the warm zone
Mine; all to my self
Yet not for too too long
For the steam room calls
Then the aromatic shower
Before to go outside
Lay on the sun-bed
Sip ice-cold water
Alone now
In the courtyard
With the olive tree
Which must be so so old
Judging by its trunk detail
Also by the mass of its girth
Myth, or mass, or mirth
Are all then that’s left
Of the final test of the mind’s body
Acceptance
Does not do it justice
There is way more
Interaction
Decay
Might have been
A better match
As in a fading passion
Yet unspeakable
Muse as mute
Sealed lips
Lips sealed
Therefore acceptance
Has no choice
Other than
To be accepted
Yet decay
Was only
A beginning, a beginning
In search of an end
Blue, blue sky
Lime green
Pine needles
Painted toenails
Ankle bracelet
No more than a g-string
A fence line to the woods
What would you want
With us in the woods
A sparrow, or let’s say
Its Ibizan equal
Sits on the wire
I am thirteen again
When to play in the woods
Was to play in the woods
No more to it than that
No hidden inventive
No subterfuge of any kind
I did not bring a towel
So this will not be easy
Soon the sweat beads will arrive
Soon the perspiration
Will dampen the paper
Also steam up the thoughts
Take the passions
To a higher place
To a hotter place
To that way of no being
I did not go beyond
Those 43 beads of sweat
Instead into the courtyard
To the breeze, to the light
To the love of life reflected
The water (to drink) is cold
The attendant keeps herself busy
It has taken me a couple of days
But I have now found
My spiritual home
