For love and war,
or war and love,
I stand for one in Plaza de Armas, La Serena.
positioned where men once hedged for the protection
of civil liberties and prayer,
fenced with government buildings,
rescue from despair;
a common space within
South American cities
where one now occupies a park bench,
kissing for hours
under showers of long shadows,
dining on local fare,
watching administrators amble
vendors pitching their wares.
Perfectly-lain tiles form a large sphere
around a central water fountain,
feminine statures of bodily bare,
positioned in four seasons
instruct radiating pathways
to ensnare locals from
far corners of a pequeña fair.
Here, last light illuminates
delightful colonial structure
in blood oranges and ruby-red flares.
My coastal Chilean lair – serene secrets of southern delights,
fatigued by Pacific flight of a salty air
lite across my outstretched
Jason Z Guest