SEPTEMBER
They picked up the lounge chairs.
They closed up the bar.
They took down the names of the singer, the dancer,
and the gypsy, the one with the magic guitar.
The sand is now empty,
umbrellas are packed,
the dancers have left.
The sun?
Not as hot as it was back in August,
when Flamenco nights were hot and fluid,
with music flying over the dark, deep waters of the Mediterranean,
whose waters kissed shores full of life,
and her body seductively swaying under the yellow moonlight…
Yellow-orange her dress, jet black hair,
naked feet pounding sand without care,
while he sang of a lover’s delight,
she danced under yellow moonlight…
All summer we sang, we danced and we lived
neath the stars of the sky
in the humid sea breeze.
But now September’s arrived,
everything’s been picked up,
and it’s time now to fly,
towards winter,
with memories lingering…
Perhaps longing for summer again
and the things we’ll be missing?
Like the moon,
like the spirit of gypsy guitars
and the soft rhythmic dancing
of a beautiful woman…on a beach, on a bar…
of the sweat… hot and sticky…that drips as you dance,
as you dance Sevillanas, on the beach on a bar…
Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 09 SEP 2023, Valencia, España
