Federico García Lorca

For Conchita García Lorca Moon came to the forge
in her petticoat of nard

For Claudio Guillén In the branches of the laurel tree
I saw two dark doves

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For Laurita, my sister’s friend

The moon is dead dead
— it will come back to life in the spring

when a south wind
ruffles the brow of the poplars

when our hearts yield their harvest of sighs

For Mary Peace Then I led her to the river
certain she was still a virgin