sun-brown men
jest from baking rooftops,
women with salt-touched caves
wander the sweaty streets
houses larger than dreams
reach soft powder beaches
and ocean, infinite ocean
—in a straight line,
you’ll reach Portugal
tanned sentries
guard the sands,
eye dolphins in the distance
from the crossed hustle
to the mocking ghost town
after season
the waves roar
their clarion call
to giant dreams
and stars make new friends
with a knowing wink
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