Cuba -
santeria, and the revolution

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Crossing the water
Singing without words
Havana, I fly to you.

Your tortured past
the uncertain future
hide behind each other in the shadows

Moment by moment gray turns to velvet
memories fade
passion warms me out of a complacent sleep.

My heart hangs on with a tight grip
captive in a glimpse.
Imaginary saints float through the city.

So many prayers unanswered.
So many streets not taken.

The visible now is the past.
Myths dissolve
Rumors vanish

The present is a mirror.
I can not look away.


My transformation is complete
I can see through stone.


written on the roof top of the Parque Central Hotel, Havana, Cuba,
2002, at sunrise.