Chaconne For Federico Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

to Federico Garcia-Lorca

the paper birds won't sing here anymore
the crystal birds can't fly - they say
the moon is leaving home

and I don't know why
the children turn away
from oranges from sweets from ruby fountains

how softly the angels
carried their carnations
on the day

your windmill was repealed-
Quixote having no tears left
bowed down under

a moon of shaded green…

how stars of pomegranate
should rain down

and the silver sea grow olive-colored
as it did beneath your gaze-
but words can no longer be found

for so many things and the soul sheds
golden wings and aureoles unknowingly.
they will not ambush

your hidden flights of jade
poetry my wounded bird poetry
my wounded bird

mary angela douglas 17 november 2009