The Rain in Spain

For the first time since 1940
Most cofradias cancelled.

A threat the floats might sink
Presumably.

Rather than the extra suffering
For you would think
Wet roads are better for bare feet
And you wouldn't need a brolly
Underneath that pointed garb.

One got away however
From Maria Louisa park
Candles and crosses and costaleros
Y-fronts on their head
Chest held solid proud
When they emerged
From that hell of men
Trudging slowly
Crammed and blind
Carrying the load of love.

Maria saves them
From the weather at least
As does The Lord
Mocked by soldiers
As fountains are a mockery in rain.

'More often than not - ' I explain
To my Easter guests
The sky comes down
Like an ocean to land
Like great heaven sweeping to earth
Oleanders blossom like snow in the heat

And jacarandas as purple as joy
'More often than not -
It's simply clear blue.'

I smile silly guilt
And vague irritation
Why have you...?

The tiny and the great
Each will find their state:
The Yorkshire moors
They yearn for cloud
They spread exposed in sun
But here the light seems authorized
And when it rains it all deflates
The cathedral loses size
The stone slips to cadaver
Or glum, uncomfortable maroon.

The palm tree feathers fade to lines
And colour seeps to stain.

The rain in Spain.

Control is never beauty
In itself
Only what that beauty deigns to be
And it may not be
The sun.