Lost in Andalusia

The dusky sky shimmers golden pink, circles the

in Andalusia.

My heart is too small, my vision too short. 
Tell me how my bag can carry just this one mountain
Home. Just this one.

Voices echo, flamingo singers swinging guitars,
feet clicking on this stone path, centuries pass.

Laughter curls from the bar onto the street and back inside, 
resting on the old mens’ faces, their heads tip back, offering 
space for the joy and the wine to settle in.

From nowhere she appeared, slipped her arm through the crook
of mine, pulled me down the winding path ‘til music
greeted us. “Aqui!” she said, and then, “Adios!” 

So the moment ended.
I didn’t know I was lost until friendship found me.