Vivenda Santa Rita

In the valley of Galamares

Looking out over the hortas and vinhas of the departed barons and princes

A mist hangs over the morning

The umbrellas of pines

The line of soldiering plane trees

Across from the old low wall

The tram squeaks by behind the house

You walk to the triangle building–a wedge

In which your favorite café holds forth, for no other reason than it was the first one you happened upon when you came to this valley.

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