after a long war 

where we hurled 

angry pomegranates

like grenades,

i walked out 

and tried to open the sky

like an umbrella 

above me.

the hour of departure

comes and i go again

hiding among 

foreign signs sayings 

‘jaume i’ and 

‘los muertos no mueren’. 

i paved around

i paved on endless tarmacs 

waiting for my turn

to voice miracles

accompanying that

concert of hyacinths.