Sadness nests in my heart

dove-like in its softness, gentle and

inexplicably heavy.

Madrid in summer. The Retiro’s birds chirp

arias

Sunshine slants through leaves

too beautiful to be compared to jade,

or silver coins,

too lovely in their motion to be

like a painting.

I think I know what paradise looks like,

now.

For this reason, if for no other, I will try

not to linger. I wonder if I

will ever learn

to say goodbye.