for 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—