Guitarra Portuguesa

in the cafe
Carlos Paredes held the Portuguese
guitar – walnut wood – the body
of Lisbon – with twelve strings
his fingers emulated rain

across the room a woman began
dancing –
the fingerpicking and figueto
described her movements –
the underwater sway
of sea grass –
I was submerged

her figure haunted every glass
of water or wine

her shadow drifted through the welter
of candlelight
on the adobe walls

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Spring
Added by Poetry Lover
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