Andalusia I. partners in sunset the hawk and I in ballet ..............................he:..........the small flame in the wind ..............................I:............the last tremor of grace the snow came from Andalusia like a sweet tongue ......................deep in my ears I have an appetite for...................snowfall sunset silence I survive myself I circle the summits of the depths I reach reflections of the hawk faint mountain silhouette in what heart's alchemy, do I turn you golden? in what heaven are you sanctuary? II. the hawk flies in my blood I am the billow of a sail dark shadow of the electrical storm beside me the swollen weather I am the same surface as the sea gone to fight the butterfly and the hawk surrender me to the silence and modesty of the highest hills we are a geometry of hard and soft green ghosts a parade of kinship with dust the barnacle announces the debacle: I am the overgrown garden the blood of the soft memory is spilled on a tabernacle of mud it is no longer warm in Granada: the water is defeated and the clouds are swollen with bile I have appetite for sunset silence snowfall III. so I will grow fat and die the hawk my vizier my dome I his saraband his song partners in sunset silent separate beings in the twilight we circle each other I am my neighbor's journey of a hardship’s miles the sun bakes me in a shell the carts of Compostela carry me to caves saintly with moss here they come to rectify I have appetite for: silence the hawk circles my surrender the blossoms are without greed the sun wants its butterfly Andalusia stands on hawk wings to see me now is to see a curtain of the mind I have no body snowfall sunset IV. the blood of a thousand hardened dreams decays, reduced to a prose no longer of roses. someone is a ballet dancer someone is drawing in charcoal someone holds a bowl of sea glass in his hand someone defies the sky’s existence the moon is a hawk with its beak in my eye Velasquez beside me scribe of fire on opposite sides of the river the hawk and the sun in flight beside the wind the activity is continuous I am born in the instant of amethyst the Bedouin holds a snow petal out to the hungry hawk the hawk snarls in the raw of his wings the dust moves the hawk bristles in his feather folds I am taken to the butterfly silently the snow suddenly comes from Andalusia V. I lie down in amethyst all my dreams show black silhouettes of ballerinas in tungsten and shade hawks retracing their steps a land remorseful for agency sunset? snowfall? silence? there is no weather to speak of The hawk sings winter in his soaring wings © Bill Yarrow