CATHRYN HANKLA
Firewalk
In La Rambla Granatilla south of Mojácar
Mica glitters beneath your feet.
Everything you have been taught
Falls away, echoing.
Monolithic, multicolored walls stretch
To form a canyon
Opening to the sea. Where have you
Been
That loneliness cannot follow, where
Thoughts cannot strike flint against your heart?
A ship edges over
Glassy waves. Strange green pods
Dangle alongside filmy leaves.
From the bushes, you hear
The liquid clicks of a shutter.
A trick with a rock we are trying to learn:
Cover the hand
With a round stone then rest another's palm
On top. In between, the rock holds steady,
The worlds of origin recede
For a long moment and anything is possible.
You choose to rub the iridescence
Between your palms, staining
Your grip with the juice of the sun.
Your hands shimmer like fishes, swimming
Ashore or walking toward the horizon.
The chirp of the gray and yellow tit pauses
Then the shutter clicks. You turn your
Head and see la rambla on fire, the sun
Hammering sparks just before it dies. 
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