In the rhythm of sweat under hot lasers
brushing broken glass on a dance floor –
Bucharest.
Mango pulp between my toes,
every footprint is a fiesta –
Panama City.
Millennial pebbles
turn me into a river –
Krujë.
Socialism, Russian style,
old asphalt is rough –
Leipaja.
Capitalism on its way to hell
with course rust on a bridge –
Boston.
Breaths of progress are
crystals in a snow globe –
Zhujiajiao.
A slow humidity of the Atlantic
wraps the streets in a soft shell –
Bilbao.
A pilgrim among millions of crushers
of already long-crushed dust –
Vrindavana.
A sea of shards of alcoholism
at a vast empty parking lot –
Cape Town.
In over three hours
I haven’t stepped on a butt –
Singapore.
Dark-skinned men have just
washed the red district with jets –
Amsterdam.
Pavings stones are somehow
gray, even to the touch –
Helsinki.
I force myself to thread
gently over a stolen sea –
Venice.
Silky skin of the Earth’s bosom
is sticky from uninvited hands –
Volcano Maderas.
Cheap concrete hurts me,
I run to my ancestors’ stones –
Koper.
Dear Nara, about that picture of Camino de Santiago sign ¿Where is it placed?
With a big barefoot embrace from Patagonia.
I took the photo in Bilbao.