He liked listening to Radio Tres.
The introductions and links assisted his Español,
the recordings his understanding of serious music.
[he slouched on his cot, scrabbling with his fingers
in the vegetable background of memory]
Every night on the bare mountain was as barren as the last.
On the overhead washing line, the Tibetan prayer flags
were flying at half mast:
half a lifetime was a cliché,
Sofía a world away.
[the Madre never weeded beans.
she looked after the investments and drove in a big limousine]
The future loomed imperfect,
the past hovered in the present.
[there was a halo painted on the wall
at the back of her absence]
The sky was blue, the earth red, the olives green.
All faded to secondary colours.
[bare feet on rare earth make no sound]
Mañana ever comes.
He needed a drink.