Like muscle-bounce bouncers,
the twin mountains stood —
ominous & imposing.
An hour of light per day
squeezed between those broad shoulders.
One hour of sunlight —
in the good seasons,
when there was sun.
The villagers’ days pivoted on that hour.
Whatever is the opposite of a siesta, they lived it.
A fiesta?
an hour of frenetic love…
of dance
of the outdoors
of the sun
of love, itself.
Outsiders found the place dismal & gloomy,
but they never loved the sun
like those villagers love the sun.
