The line of tourists sneaks around the building,
Drifting in and out of the sun.
Words of all different languages floating around,
With no place to go,
And all of a warm sunny day in Southern Spain to get there.
He stands with his family in the line,
Two or three groups from the entrance to the Palacio Nazaries.
His mother reads from a guide book,
Telling about the stories in the 700 year old palace.
The last refuge of the Moors, Columbus, and Isabel and Ferdinand.
The family enters, and immediately is awash
With stucco art, tessalations, and intelligent architecture,
That seem they were created before it’s time.
People walk on tiles that existed before the Americas did,
Someone’s laughter breaks the fleeting peace,
Voices on a cell phone drowning out the
Voices from the past.