That wreath! Pronto! I'm dying! Weave
fast! Cantal moans! Sing! That
shadow obscures the throat
me again and again and a thousand light comes January.
Between what I want and I love you, stars
air plant and shake bush anemone
with dark groan rose a year.
Enjoy the fresh landscape of my wound, reeds and streams bankruptcy
delicate thigh
honey baby in bloodshed.
But soon! That united, connected,
broken mouth bite and soul love, time will find
destroyed.
Federico García Lorca
Amancio Prada
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