Fierro juggles space clockwise through Genoa, Turin, and Milan; Columbus spawned, Nietzsche razed, and the Serbian Rakić christened into candor:

Oh, seal thy lips! no words! be silent now;
Dismiss my soul to peaceful reverie,
With leaves all round us yellowing on the bough,
While swallows to warm lands of sunshine flee.

We do not really mean what we say, harvesting what Montes de Oca called la engañosa mordaza de palabras.

The Gaditanos taught my quintet of pupils and me the important relationship between a wall and a name when moving counterclockwise through the Andalusian provincial capital. Cádiz, extramuros, becomes Puerta de Tierra, and a boat ride across the bay takes you to Alberti's natal Puerta de Santa María, which became his mortal Puerta de Santa María on October 28, which had become Mom's natal day in 1950. The east and west of the clock face, the sun and shade of the Real Plaza de Toros, the north and south of "El ángel de los números":

Vírgenes sin escuadras,
sin compases, llorando.
Y en las muertas pizarras,
el ángel de los números,
sin vida, amortajado
sobre el 1 y el 2,
sobre el 3, sobre el 4...

And when we least expect them the three points appear.

Lacking other recommendations, I found Marinero en tierra at Cádiz's La Clandestina and Pérez Galdós' Cádiz at Puerta de Tierra's Las Libreras. Had I known of Ora marítima, I might have found Tartessos instead of the Phoenician man beneath the puppet theater or Manuel de Falla beneath Santa Cruz Cathedral.