Ghazal of Unexpected Love
No one could fathom the perfume,
the dark magnolia of your belly.
None could know what hummingbird of love
you crushed between your lips.
A thousand Persian colts were sleeping
in the square with moonlight from your brow,
meanwhile I fastened four nights in thrall
to your waist, that enemy of snow.
Between the gypsum and jasmine, your glance
was a pale bough of seeds.
I hunted in my breast for your offering,
the ivory letters that spell always.
Always, always: garden of my agony,
your fugitive body forever,
a drink of your arteries in my throat,
already your lightless mouth holds no candle at my dying.
—Frederico García Lorca
Trans. Stephanie Rose Adams