At the Iglesia de Sacromonte

A death's head
from which falls away
a black soutane,
he conducts me
and the three withered nuns
from Pamplona
through his catacomb of horrors.

Complete with hairy lip
and decaying stumps of tooth,
the three withered nuns
from Pamplona
Kiss relic and bloodstained bars
asking for intercession.

As they kneel and mumble
I hear reverberate
in cave and cell
the running bulls of Pamplona.