Sonnetta Pamplonese

Stoned sangria sunset, brazen bull breath
Baiting caballeros, crowding plazas.
Hidden fighters slink out to face a death,
As bulls stamp and snort at life's impasses.

Running from a dusted, deluged sunrise,
Pounding pain-wracked alleys, echoed crying,
Bouncing up from cobbles where blood draws flies.
Flee to safety: it's living or dying.

Running to the bull ring wherein all's clear.
A circle, a gate - buen Dia, an arm.
The Crimson sash is as blatant as fear,
When making the sprint, avoiding the harm.

Once more, the bulls and runners chase the page,
As I sit in my room and write... and age.