I want to cry because I feel like it- The way children cry in the last row of seats- Because I am not a man, not a poet, not a leaf, Only a wounded pulse that probes the things of the other Side I want to cry saying my name, Rose, child, and fir on the shore of this lake, To speak truly as a man of blood Killing in myself the mockery and suggestive power of the word F. G. Lorca From the Poema doble Del Lago Eden Spring 1929