ART OF EUROPE

Federico Garcia Lorca - Adam

   A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.

   The coming light establishes and wins
white limits of a fable that forgets
the tumult of veins in flight
toward the dim cool of the apple.

   Adam dreams in the fever of the clay
of a child who comes galloping
through the double pulse of his cheek.

   But a dark other Adam is dreaming
a neuter moon of seedless stone
where the child of light will burn.