CAF BARCELONA To Catalina Guilt, we spoke of it, in short shudders and sighs.

Silent in a caf, the heated cups went mute unable to temper the freedom of well-roasted emotions flowing into the crevices that surround the Plaa eial. !he palm trees approving blindl" of the pla"ful naughtiness of the lights from anti#ue lamps. !he hush of the $editerranean is the cusp of reason, penetrated b" the giggles of the moon pla"ing on the surface of the fountain of our desires. %e were caught, between the e"es of invisible guests and the tremors under the table, where tears of libert" brought into the evening air the sweet aroma that lingered still from old &arcelona.

ETERNAL SUNSET 'n old man sat silentl" (n the edge of a worn-out wharf. )e stares strangel" at the hori*on+ ,ife is an ephemeral fire &urning out the time-stained sands 'bove the thin threshold of eternit". )is e"es caught its last ra"s, -n tears he remembered the "ears %hen forever was nowhere !o be found in the burning desires (f unbounded "outh, when #uagmires &uilt b" innocence and silliness .ever felt heav", as if life is ' smile awa" from happiness. .ow, he prepares to la" in darkness. !he hori*on no longer a prison/ &ut the weight that pulled the sun !o the bottom of the ocean &elittles his agonies, his memories. )e remembers his life, his &eing!here+ a smile for what remains. -n sleep he curtailed his world, 'nd death was nothing more but ipples of a light now unseen.

COGITANS - am not 0ust a thing !hat walked on concrete streets. - remember walking with !he countr"side blast of smoke Spewed from the butts of old 1ehicles. - recall the unceasing chatter !hat filled the air around m" ears. - am not that ob0ect, touching (ver another, and another, and 'nother, alongside pedestrians, %hose smiles and tears - remember. -t is not the form of their lips (r the wetness of their cheeks !hat filled the chambers of m" memor", &ecause - am not merel" present .ot merel" a sign on this medium. - am, and - pro0ect meanings !he wa" an ink cannot to a paper. !here is a life that - live, but -t is not the stroke that - remember -t is the blotting of the ink, !he mutation of the fine smearing. - remember living, - am not ' mere thing that needed a soul.

LOST IN MACAO %alking along in heav" steps - found m"self wondering beneath the meanings laid b" "our circuitous paths under the fier" ga*e of those Portuguese cannons. -t is a citadel with e"es left to witness those dancing lights on the western b"wa", where the east is pulling awa" from the reflections of shin" casinos. !he" gleam over the twilight letting the church endure the music inside this ,as 1egas mirage or that miniature 1enice. Perhaps the past is unable to understand the dancing waters filling "our streets with chaotic grace and flooding "ou with faces unknown to the old language that continue to mark the foreign landscape, which - am walking and emerging lost without direction 0ust in time for a world to pass b" the oblivious crowd.