

Flush and Pale in PamplonaWe have never seen a dawn that has not died within an hour. But here’s one now, and, unsure if it has lied or not, I check your eyes: The sun’s still struggling to get inside, the small bright spots of fingertips tugging lightly at your lids.Flush and Pale in Pamplona
And I, from a family of cowards, am hesitant to wake you, though not so much as to stop my lowered hand from moving upwards, stilling only when you start to stir and stretch; and then exhale in a way that makes me flush, then pale, as I, too, drift back to sleep, to wait until the midday sun  
Spring
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Bizarre Celebrations
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