A Troubadour in Girona

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxfor Joan Xavier Quintana

What’s said in praise of Romeo is true
Of this young Catalan’s absorbing song:

It’s new snow discovered
On a raven’s back—

All the dusk’s redeeming chords,
The cool, lauding coins

Tossed in a disheveled guitar case,
Belong to this inspiriting seer—

In the scalloped basilica’s
Cloak-like shadow, or in the lavish

Gardens of the French Woman,
His voice, in old cobblestone Girona,

Has the ingenious sheen
Of just-seen Andorran blossoms,

Something arrow-sure and willing
As an oh-so-purposeful nun,

Or a startling dove, flown
Far from the dovecote—