We too, the night ahead, the full moon looming:
I began to weep while you laughed.
Your scorn became a god, and my complaints
were little doves and moments in a chain.
We two, the night ahead, crystal of pain,
and you wept over deep and distant things.
My sorrow was a clump of agony
resting on your fragile heart of sand.
The dawn drew us together on the bed.
Our mouths were waiting near the frozen spout
of blood that spilled forth in an endless flow.
The sun came through the shuttered balcony
and the coral of life opened its branch,
and settled here upon my shrouded heart.
Federico Garcia Lorca, Noche del amor insomne
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