He’s spent all morning walking in Coral Gables,
Remembering canals and looping streets as they’d looked
When he lived here, sorrow hanging from the banyan trees,
Their thin, brown roots reaching for earth—Campo Sano,
The hospital where he’d been treated for depression, smells
Of disinfectant, his house near the campus, the large
Green lawns and barrel-tiled roofs of middle-class mansions,
Imitations of an imaginary Spain, noise of South Dixie Highway
Inescapable, even at an inside table. At the university library,
He’d opened the encyclopedia and smiled that Franco was dead—
No need to be ashamed of that smile. He’d smiled also at
The women crowding the counter, placing orders for sweet drinks.
Even dead, he missed Zenobia and wondered what she would
Say if she could see him, drinking bad coffee, examining
SUVs and bicycles in the parking lot—he looks up suddenly to see
A blue and gold macaw perched on a high branch, the world
Still capable of surprise.
