But Lorca still lies where he fell......
Snake- we do not care for snake
Is not like us- is a very bad creature.
Says the book.
The book is miffed
At very strong snakes of bronze and copper,
Fat with electric, healing jizz,
Snakes that are god.
A coolness takes
In the darkness donnas
And, fiddly-fiddle, a wireless set
That talks in snake-speak. Beautiful hissings.
The first night I dreamed about prisons.
I blame the sky. (It was like a sheet
Of white hot steel.) and the altitude...
But next day we were picking figs
Along the valley. And every village
Sent out its dogs as an honour guard.
Under the slope of tumbled stone,
Under the dusty, fiff-faff trees,
A nook, a garden:
Its gate stands open,
Not as an invitation exactly
But as a careless act of grace
Here are medicinal
Herbs in pots
Under the shade of a walnut tree
And hung on a clothes-line out in the sun.
A pillowcase and a shift and a dress.