Jeremy Bassetti

The songs of sirens bloomed again today far away from the nights of azahar along the river we rested by day on the grassy bank drinking tinto telling jokes and when the sun left us later and later we walked in the puddled streets looking for artists or poets or anyone with something interesting to say but we found instead a dark bar alight with tubes of amethyst selling cheap chupitos it was hard to hear you and women with sad flor de granada lips and sad dark eyes they were not seekers of the infinite but like us in that moment in front of this neon bar where white stars twinkled on the orange trees when a breeze came down the Guadalquivir.