Rural Spain

Life, you take me
To some beautiful places
Which often I sleep through
And miss entirely

A common roadside ditch with views of traffic
And windswept trash
Framed by surly clouds and winter grass
From the picture window of a bus
Can be breathtaking

The crops are months away
The trees bare bundles of incense
Hills with marine haircuts and stunted lobes
The hubris dawn a contradiction

Ferdinand, which olive tree did you sit beneath
And look upon the fields
Before the pavement and the towers
Before I woke and touched the glass?