[O'Hara translation 5]

This heart, with its crickets'
rhythm, has had enough. It is this

and it's that: marks and angels
invisible, on paper where the lemon's

spilled. "A lemon that the reader could cut
or squeeze or taste—a real lemon

like a newspaper." He whispers — she
whispers — they whisper: a cause,

the opportunity, all acts that contribute
to human welfare, each other.

And here — a lonely kind
of encounter — there

have been three or four. The wide
world's shadow, cast up into

the more and more — I recall
those things and hold

my breath, and sweat.





[Material in quotes comes from Jack Spicer's letter to Lorca's ghost, published in After Lorca.]