for a little while, the light on Lorca's face,
Garcia Lorca,
lay in shadow-
the angels carried their
carnations softly;
the windmill of the universe was repealed.
Quixote, having no tears left:
bowed down under
a moon of shaded green
mary angela douglas 29 january 1999; 27 september 2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem