I

I think about you, your soft landscapes
sitting here now, alone but not without company
I think of that solitude I had with you
your mountains and sunkissed architecture
I had to come back, do the English thing
but I still think of you and will always remember you;
Your peerless sky, your soft wind and easy charm
your gentle touch upon my skin, your sun beating down upon my chest
I feel, in hindsight, leaving was correct,
that it was the right decision, that solitude was so often soporific
I needed more, more than your language could donate.
Yet, still, sometimes, I question myself:
Between fear and desire there comes a sacrifice,
like Oedipus on the road to Thebes, I wonder if mine was right.

II

Not usually one to mope about
I now am sat, indeed, sit and shout
Looking over the balcony at the passing cars
The youthful beauty of the passing trade
Their black, thick hair and me, my masquerade
It is coming to an end, I feel, not much longer now
Just time to wait and see what this future may hold for me
It will not do to dwell and cower in the corner at this hour
Only time to sit and wait, count the flowers
and curl up like a ball for hours and hours.

III

Wide awake this morning, another spotless sky
I pine for frost on the ground and scarfs in the air
Raised aloft with their wooly glare
Or even gloves and pulled down sleeves
Their image unapologetic, a plee for warmth
But in the warmth I long for that, to cuddle up,
To bathe in water warmer than the sky
I miss the days when all is grey, achromatic colour is absent here
I'm sure when I am back over there I will rue this chance
To sit on this chair, feel the sun on my back
This schadenfreude, you know, is nature's charm (or fatal blow)
I will probably laugh in a few years, but not now
Instead I will wonder down to the plaza, have a glass of rioja
And think of something that's positively fantastic.

IV

Sitting on the train is a marvellous thing,
The passing fields and mountains glide right beside me
And those flying blobs up in the sky look back with unstinting eye,
What must it be like to be up there, alone but not lonely
Alive but not anxious, free and not caged
Happy but not bathetic, beauty without hubris
Like a good simile, I yearn to keep alluding,
Like a bad metaphor, I only keep resembling.