February Snow
The tint of the sky between sunset and night.
And wandering with you and your nephew
in that maze, half-lost — Madrid
of the Austrias — looking for Plaza of the Green
Cross where, days before you arrived,
an Opel with false plates was parked, its wheels
straddling the curb, and so the van
heading for the barracks that morning
had to slow to squeeze
past... Back at the hotel your mom
is holding up her gift — Amethyst, she says
admiring how light
when passing through a prism