Qasida of the Woman Prone
by Federico Garcia Lorca
To see you naked is to remember the Earth,
the smooth Earth, clean of horses,
the Earth without reeds, pure form,
closed to the future, confine of silver.
To see you naked is to understand the desire
of rain that looks for the delicate waist,
or the fever of the broad-faced sea
that cannot find the light of its cheek.
Blood will ring through the bedrooms
and will come with flaming swords,
but you will not know the hiding places
of the violet or the heart of the toad.
Your womb is a struggle of roots.
Your lips are a dawn without contour.
Under the lukewarm roses of the bed
the dead men moan, awaiting their return.
I know he is coming. I feel the fibers of his being stretching out across the ethers of existence. I feel his desire to be woven into the fabric of my life. I feel the immensity of his desire for union that matches my own.
His identity is unknown but I feel his energy seeking out my contours and the softness of my inner mystery.
Come to me. I am open to you.