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Poem	Orange blossoms blowing over Castile children begging for coins I met my love under an orange tree or was it an acacia tree or was he not my love? I read this, then I dreamed this: can waking take back what happened to me? Bells of San Miguel ringing in the distance his hair in the shadows blond-white I dreamed this, does that mean it didn't happen? Does it have to happen in the world to be real? I dreamed everything, the story became my story: he lay beside me, my hand grazed the skin of his shoulder Mid-day, then early evening: in the distance, the sound of a train But it was not the world: in the world, a thing happens finally, absolutely, the mind cannot reverse it. Castile: nuns walking in pairs through the dark garden. Outside the walls of the Holy Angels children begging for coins When I woke I was crying, has that no reality? I met my love under an orange tree: I have forgotten only the facts, not the inference— there were children, somewhere, crying, begging for coins I dreamed everything, I gave myself completely and for all time And the train returned us first to Madrid then to the Basque country
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