| The mist is seeping off the ocean coast in | | | | worry about, or eleven inches of snow overnight, |
| Lima-seeping I say, seeping up and into Milaflores | | | | just an ocean a few blocks away, and sunny |
| Park, by the café: El Parquetito this sunny, | | | | days. |
| Tuesday afternoon, where I am having my | | | | The park is green, the fog has reached it now, it |
| coffee and coke, sitting back absorbing the | | | | is also reaching me, in El Parquetito, but it will fade |
| moment, writing this down for you. Other than | | | | with the heat of the day, it always does. Romina |
| that, doing nothing, nothing, I say, nothing at all. | | | | is serving us today (she is young and happy, |
| Somewhere in the background the nation's song is | | | | always smiling, goes to school in the evenings); |
| being played, and what really is going through my | | | | Rosa will have Cebiche, for me, Lasagna. |
| mind on this sunny day is: who will ever | | | | I like the watching, listening, smells of the |
| remember this one simple day. | | | | surrounding actions and motions of the |
| My wife is reading the book: "Last Autumn and | | | | café, I feel like I am underwater, watching |
| Winter," poems out of Minnesota, and all around | | | | everything, like an invisible alien. Ah! but who will |
| her the world seems busy, hot, sounds with | | | | remember a simple day like this, if I don't write |
| entities of life. No potholes, like in Minnesota to | | | | about it? |