Casida of Weeping

~ after Federico Garcia Lorca

Dear Federico, it is impossible
to shut all the balconies of the world
to the sounds of weeping. The angels
have been arrested as they crossed

the border, their wings torn off
and crumpled into sheets of tinfoil.
It is impossible to describe
the tears of the separated

though their weeping has been
recorded. In the distance, dogs
and sentinels limp from one
mile marker to another,

exhausted. And dear Federico,
a mother could not ever forget you.
Or a father. Or a grandfather.
Their cries make the sound

of hundreds of strings pitched
to breaking. Like you, all we hear
pouring over the balconies
is the sound of weeping.

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