Cuenca Dear, A Question

In a hundred hours not once 

did I feel unsafe, or unwelcome 

familiar streets, even when

-even in, the moments I was lost.

Lost,      but welcome.

Your lit up churches, foundations and towers

                 Highlighting what has                been and what could be.

Your street sweepers come out while the band is still playing,

and in our listening to the heavens

we turn around to find

cleanliness     in     the

clean lines of your brickwork

the curved lines of your stonework 

-you never quite understood the culture which birthed you.

In 6000 minutes 

I indulged in,

every aspect of your kitchen

with eyes, and smiles, and a tummy that grumbled - I sampled,

And sampled also your

artwork, the museos

of a thousand years.

The museos of ayer,

Sometimes your sculptures

weren't yet standing,

But I recognized the shape

Of what's to come.

Your center boasts

a pledge to preserve

You for all humanity -but

in all the love you gave me

none came with a touch.

How can I help preserve you

if you won't share with me a partner?

Welcome,       but lost.