On our return
up from the sea
Viltelbo teaches me

the Spanish name
of every bird,
every bush,
every tree.

rough pavement hot
beneath our feet,
the hills above us

billowing green,
though bluest blue
the heavens seem,

from one white wisp
there sprinkles rain.
he smiles to tell

me not to fret,
his cloudy eyes
sparkle a bit,

“the sun is hot
and so it sweats.”