BUBION, NEAR GRANADA , JUNE 27, 2004

 

 

This place is better

in the morning,

the coolness

and the finches –

they feed each other

with kisses;

the mountains

wake up

with the sun.

I read about

Lorca and

his predictions

of his death

the day after

the poet

showed me

the remains

of hundreds

they found

during the diggings

of construction

seven years ago –

the bones buried beneath

strong smelling

rosemary and thyme.

He told me,

nearly 70 years

after their murders,

pieces of these people –

fragments of their

arms and legs,

ribs and wrists –

still lay atop the earth,

and glisten in the sun,

after rain.

 

 

 

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