Song of the Cynic

            After Federico García Lorca

Life after life passes as the earth simply spins.
Trees sleep.
No prayers bring the moon closer.
The air’s thick with sweetness
but a tiger sits in my throat.
I follow my own footsteps and wonder
Where, where does the light go?

I want to drip with July rains.
I want to merge with crashing seas.
I want to feel the planet’s hum,
witness the fires of polar skies: colors of God whispering,
run with wild horses on the isle of Assateague.

Shall I turn another corner?
Mourn for days eyes can no longer see?
Tell me, Heart, is it from deep bitterness
that faith is conceived?

Catherine Fletcher is a poet and an editor for Rattapallax. Her work has appeared in journals such as Poetry Wales, The Raconteur, and The Offing, among others, and she has performed at venues in the United States, Mexico, and India. She lives in New York City.

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