My hands had forgotten Lorca
Though my body was full of him, for I
had spent part of last Saturday discussing
his poetry with a Chilean sailor, my hands
had forgotten Lorca.
Until tonight, when,
glancing through an anthology,
I came across a poem of his, called Córdoba.
&, opening an atlas to search
for this city, realised as I ran
my fingers over the map of Spain
that I was stroking Lorca’s face.
1964
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