The Silence Of Lorca

[to the green memory of Federico Garcia-Lorca]

the green moon still in eclipse.

a mantle breaks out into roses overnight.

and fades. by dawn.

dawn over Spain.

the lawns with little flowers

little flowers suspire

while the Princess in pale lawn
cannot explain.

why.  why. 
no one is there to sing.

to gather the late blooming elegies

requires more music than the heart has left.

a reverse of the sudden executions.

the execution of music
sobbed the Princesa
into a milky sky of glass.

rescinding all orders

it has washed out; is it lost at sea?

who wanted a mall

a stadium where he bled?

where he has bled the last

ribbon of moonlight; white white lead.

and who is there left to show in colours of the limonero

what is under our eyes that breaks into flowers-

if not, snow?

or remains behind to gather the laments

in an emerald book

in an emerald book and though we look and strain to hear

oh año tras año
lemon bitter, year on year

who can contemplate: 

the silence  of Lorca-

without tears?

mary angela douglas 15 october 2014;10 november 2014