Poor Lorca I want all the waterways reft of their beds, I want all the winds to be left without dells, The night to be left without eyelids and lorn, And my heart to be left without blossoms of gold, And the oxen to speak with the umbels and shoots, And the earthworm to wriggle in death by gloom, And the teeth of the skull to glisten and glint, And a washing of yellows to flood out the silk, I can see how the wounded night in its duel, Lies embattled and writhes with impending noon. I resist a sun setting in venomous green, And the broken arch where time suffers in grief. But don’t show your immaculate nude to me, Like a cactus of black opened up in the reeds. Leave me with dark planets to yearn in pain, But no, don't you teach me the cool of your waist!