Santiago

I

My heart.

Santiago.

The place where all my dreams convene.

The place that always draws me back,

That never leaves me nor leaves me dissatisfied.

In your streets I find solace and peace,

Like the many tentacled octopus from your maternal shores

Wrapped about my soul

In a warm but firm embrace,

Always guiding me,

Never relenting, nor allowing me to fall.

Always ensuring that I find my path again.

In you I find me and my many reflections;

Refractions of golden light glinting in the eyes and hearts

Of all who cross my path there; wondering who

Will look at me and know me and I them.

Who will remember that we have already

Walked the same path many times before,

Though distant in time, but not in memory.

Crystallised in memory,

Like a moth caught in amber

Vivid and eternal, preserved by the

Resinous tears of an ancient tree,

Whose azabache flesh made cold

And raven by the changing winds,

Gains warmth again in honour to the pilgrims who

Come home to you, and honour you

With their own stories and histories

As I have;

Standing tall and proud like your

Magnificent facades and buildings,

Spires and towers,

Cruceiros and lanzas,

Built in our name,

Studded with the many faces

That look at me through familiar eyes;

And decorated by the hands that placed the stones

That were carved by the spellswords that gave them life;

With foundations hundreds of years deep,

Like the roots of the giant eucalyptus trees

That support the field of stars above your Alameda

Reaching deep down into the earth

And into the many universes that

Converge where your heart beats;

Where my heart awakens and hears

Your pulse resounding in the deep timpanous

And primordial chimes of your cathedral bell

Reminding me that I have arrived;

And I feel cleansed by all that I see,

All that I hear, taste and smell of you,

Santiago

My heart,

I.