That light enters
through my window
and lets me see
little floating particles
that seem to flicker
in and out of existence
like tiny twinkling stars.

(After Lorca)

In the cloudy evening,
I was a heart, a heart.

I was ripe with song
when I was breaking.

Oh, soul ... red soul,
the color of desire.

In the sleepless morning,
I was still myself, a heart.

The evening was ripe
with my voice, a song.

Oh, soul ... red soul,
the color of desire.

Let your character make you a gentleman, not your attire.