Con Ganas Location 65807 United States 37° 10' 32.5056" N, 93° 19' 43.7448" W See map: Google Maps This poem is about: Me Comments Login or register to post a comment. Veronica Berger 4 years ago A grey rock cliff. Slow cascading water. The drop mere inches, into a pond, no, a puddle. Age visits for a thousand years until the water screams and pounds on the rock. It falls feets, miles, yards? Which is easier to imagine? A stage. The floor makes love to shoes, with nails hammered in them to keep the feet forever trappped. Fuesa yells the feets ownew as the plantas increase in speed, to the sound of palmas y guitarras and the voz of a hurly man with a gritty voice. Together, the waterfall and the bailarin pound vicioulsy yet with grace; with a passion made from pure self-pleassure. The waterfall will not end its dance, it will be friends with Age for centuries but Age will not be as kind to the dancer. The dancers' feet will sore, back will creak, knees will buckle. But she will always yell Eso es! Fuesa! and walk with loud feet, chest up, pompi in, shoulders back and ganas in her eyes.