Sketches of Lorca
        I have lost myself in the sea many times.
              —"Gacela of the Flight"

It's winter and the night is cold, but still he feels
the fever of the sea; thirsty water seeking new forms,
sprawling across land, overflowing the silver pools
and stone cisterns. Purple roses and white camellias
hang, waiting to fall from a trellis of violet shadows.
Love stirs in the blood: love, a tumult in the heart,
fierce as fire blazing in snow, salt rubbed in a wound
that never heals. Sheltered by plaster and jasmine,
asleep on a bench in the silent courtyard, he dreams
he's losing himself—he's lost again—in the sea.

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Copyright © 2018 Lorna Knowles Blake All rights reserved
from Green Hill
Able Muse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission