Camino de Santiago.
For roads that, yes, it was sex, now I know, as a pilgrim on the path of Santiago, the pilgrim and the pumpkin shell with water from the Jordan monks sleeping in dark shelters, in homes of good people in haystacks of convents with riotous play sisters in guest houses when real, eating bread and bacon, praying the Angelus at odd hours, with wind and shadow clocks, with hermit devotion in every hair of the beard, with the smell of her body in my fingers that caress the trunk of apple trees, stone benches, the belt of dusty sandals, kissing roosters guarding the crossroads, fording rivers where water covers the navel, lying under the arches of the main plazas, where you mix the smells of bakeries to the moisture in the tiles of dark taverns, with parishioners singing hymns to virgin remote villagers muddy sandals red nose and playing at cards, farmers afflicted by drought in the door painted women showing their breasts without shame, ordinary gestures, fake gold earrings as bait, uncouth words pumpkin and figs, forbidden fruit, of intercourse with a real, old people who look crooked, puppeteers with tight shirts, colored caps and bells, was sex, I know, but he loved her, I liked his thin body, buttocks hard under nightgown when we passed the night and it rained, there were no stars and the music of our thighs stop this world now ends in Compostela, Landscapes successive, sometimes waving wheat fields, now monotony of the vine, now green fields, pine and poplar, dry grass beds for nap under the oak trees, rosemary, Italian, German, French, they too are broken, they will fulfill their vows, this is their way of redemption found in the early morning frost on rabbits fleeing by the stubble, foxes in the chicken coops of adobe villages, with prayers and groans out of the cattails sensed towers in the mist, the road is full of mysteries and a blasphemous shepherd among the flock of sheep frightened by a hairy hound, I think of drinking from a boot with collecting every drop language, the same language that ran her back, the gap between your legs bent, brown nipples, juicy, places that were mine and kissed with devotion and sighs, the curve of her hips, joy of positions that we invented, he knelt and clouds were dragons , giant rabbits and white, who entered his body as a well of shadows and the background I was waiting for his adolescent eyes, that look that we lost in the square and that made me forget other women of smooth flesh, screaming and shaking shared Fevers of desire, riot sheets, beds at high tide that seemed acrobats and follow this road that is sometimes a swamp, rolled trucks, donkeys splashing with their hooves, howling wolf the hills, leaning on a pillar, with the breeze that clears the pain now that the road forks and one side can guess the cathedral and the other gate of hell, patios walkers crowded miserable with swollen feet, lungs, whistling, dusty leg ulcers, coughs, chilblains on their ears, the smell of sweat, a girl who looks to heaven and pray, hunger in this town down the road, full of paradox smells of cabbage soup, black pudding and parsley casserole pots, fried, grilled lamb chops, garlic and vinegar, wine barrels, cover my head and my hand goes a pregnant woman, a blind man led by a disheveled young lad, a dentist with a red apron and a tongs in hand, was sex, perhaps, do not ask anybody, come now proud beggars who look at greedy merchants, a lamb escapes the stalls of trinkets, a bellowing bull tied to a tree, a company of soldiers with red caps and flags, drums and a captain on horseback and in that alley was there I stopped, it was not me, oh pain, he loved her, which freaked maybe not cried, he stayed in my arms, I could not take it any other, I wanted to stop the bleeding with long skirts, I ran away crying, someone has betrayed me, that after so much travel will not get to the door, which the background are the towers, the saint and not forgive me, I could not bear his indifference, she at the beginning of this road what will become of me?. End
(Continued from 17.09.2008)
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