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Orange blossoms blowing over Castile
children begging for coins
 
I met my love under an orange tree
or was it an acacia tree
or was he not my love?
 
I read this, then I dreamed this:
can waking take back what happened to me?
Bells of San Miguel
ringing in the distance
his hair in the shadows blond-white
 
I dreamed this,
does that mean it didn’t happen?
Does it have to happen in the world to be real?
 
I dreamed everything, the story
became my story:
 
he lay beside me,
my hand grazed the skin of his shoulder
 
Mid-day, then early evening:
in the distance, the sound of a train
 
But it was not the world:
in the world, a thing happens finally, absolutely,
the mind cannot reverse it.
 
Castile: nuns walking in pairs through the dark garden.
Outside the walls of the Holy Angels
children begging for coins
 
When I woke I was crying,
has that no reality?
 
I met my love under an orange tree:
I have forgotten
only the facts, not the inference—
there were children, somewhere, crying, begging for coins
 
I dreamed everything, I gave myself
completely and for all time
 
And the train returned us
first to Madrid
then to the Basque country
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