Monday, September 18, 2006

Let my heart be a cicada
over heavenly fields.
Let it die singing slow,
by the blue sky wounded.
And as it fades
let this woman I forsee
scatter it through the dust
with her hands.

And let my blood on the field
make sweet and rosy mud
where weary peasants
sink their hoes.

Cicada!
Oh happy cicada!

Frederico Garcia Lorca (Translated by Catherine Brown.)

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