After Lorca
       

They came for me
as they came for the moon.
And though they beat her heart
into white necklaces and rings,*
of me they wished only
a mouthful of dirt.

But some still hear me
when a violin moans
through the piazza, trees
creak their sad guitars
in the bosque or shiny stones
ring bells as the river
splashes kisses over me.

Some still search for me
as they would a garden of gold.
I see them in the evenings, looking
through the lake's dark window and
wearing the moon around their necks.

*Line from "Ballad of the Moon" by Frederico Garcia Lorca
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Copyright © 2020 Patty Dickson Pieczka All rights reserved
from The Bitter Oleander
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission