[from Collected Poems by Federico Garcia Lorca, edited by Christopher Maurer]
Venus
Sure enough,
you've got two big boobs
& a string of pearls
on your neck.
A child of the mist
holds your mirror.
Though you're very far off
I still see you,
placing a hand like a rainbow's
over your sex
or lazily punching the sky
into shape, like a pillow.
We're looking at you through a lens—
the renaissance & me.
Clock Echo
I sat down
in a clearing in time.
It was a pool of silence.
White silence.
Incredible ring
where the bright stars collide
with a dozen floating
black numbers.
Question
Why was it the apple
& not
the orange
or the polyhedral
pomegranate?
Why this virgin fruit
to clue them in,
this smooth & gentle
pippin?
What admirable symbol
lies dormant at its core?
Adam, Paris, Newton
carry it inside their souls
& fondle it without a clue
to what it is.
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