Federico García Lorca

Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.

The wounds were burning like suns
at five in the afternoon,
and the crowd broke the windows
At five in the afternoon.
Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon!
It was five by all the clocks!
It was five in the shade of the afternoon!

The still pool of air
under the branch of echo.

The still pool of water
under a frond of stars.

The still pool of your mouth
under a thicket of kisses.