And I took her to the river
believe that was a maiden, but she had a husband
.
Santiago was the night of almost
and commitment.
The lanterns were lit and crickets.
In the last corner I touched her sleeping breasts and they opened
suddenly like spikes of hyacinth.
starch
her petticoat sounded in my ear,
as a piece of silk
rent by ten knives.
without silver light on their foliage
trees have grown, and a horizon
dogs barked very far from river.
Past the blackberries,
the reeds and the hawthorne underneath her cluster
hair made a hole in the earth.
I took off my tie.
She took off her dress. I
belt with the revolver.
She, her four bodices. Nor nard nor shells
have skin so fine, nor
glass with silver shine with such brilliance.
Her thighs slipped away from me
like startled fish, half
full of fire,
half full of cold. That night I ran
the best of roads mounted
nacre mare without bridle stirrups.
I do not mean a man,
the things she told me.
The light of understanding has made me more discreet. Dirty
sand and kisses I took her river.
with the air beating swords
lilies.
I behaved like what I am.
like a gypsy.
I gave her a big sewing satin
straw and did not want to fall in love
because having
husband told me that was a maiden
when took her to the River.
Federico García Lorca
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