have fitted into the ancient stone
of sun-kissed Santiago Cathedral.
Its grooves are smooth with age, he senses
the spirits of travellers from deep in the past:
so many pilgrims with many a tale,
this mighty building the end of the trail.
Oh, weeks of walking cleansed his soul
from all the filth of modern life:
an electric hell, frantic rush...to nowhere.
He didn't believe he'd reach the finale
under a soporific Spanish sky and lofty paths
following ghosts, and on his face now brown
salty tears of redemption trickle down.