ODE TO THE CAFÉ PAMPLONA Womb of friends, conversations, books, Marrow, cellar of human moods, Door into feeling, Iberian light slice, I come to celebrate your seasons. In June church shade Or under September stars, Reading Cervantes in the sun, Unamuno by the rushing Dudley bus, Machado or Lorca near your winter stove, I have knit my soul to Spain here. Speak to me your Shaly consonants and grassy vowels, Conciones earth, bright in your passionate home tongue. When your steam machine roars I hear bulls thunder through holy Pamplona. Your caffeine music kindles my veins. And your waiters-wonderful! Generations, torrents, encyclopedias Of waiters have rivered my years. So I give…
