LORCA

‘f’ (Fhderico Garcia Lorca, Spanish poet shot by Franco's men). When veins congeal

And gesture is confounded

When pucker frowns no more

And voice's door

Is shut forever

On such a night

My bed will shrink

To single size

Sheets go cold

The heart hammer With life-loud clamor

While someone covers up the eyes.

Ears are given To hear the silence driven in Nailed down. And we descend now down from hea en Into earth's mold, down. Whilec y0u-- inn You hold the light

l5nbr_.<_>.,1<9_.r3. -

When you lived Day shone from your face: Now the sun rays search

And find no answering torch.

If you were living now This cliffside tree

And its embracing bough Would speak to me.