Federico Garcia Lorca – Weather vane/Banderuola
Winslow Homer, The west wind, 1891 South wind dark and fiery onto my skin you scatter seed from brilliant glances, wet with blossom. You redden the moon draw sobs from captive poplars, but you come too late. I’ve already rolled my night’s story up high on the shelf. When there’s no wind take care! Turn, …