Dreamwalker Ballad

To Gloria Giner and Fernando de los Rios

Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
Boat on the sea
and horse on the mountain.
Shadow at her waist
she dreams at her railing,
green flesh, green hair,
and eyes of cold silver.
Green how I want you green.
Beneath the gypsy moon
things are watching her
and she can’t watch them.

*

Green how I want you green.
Great stars of frost,
arriving with the shadow-fish
that clears the way for dawn.
The fig-tree sandpapers
its wind on its branches,
and the mountain, like a thieving cat,
arches its back of sour agaves.
But who will come? And from where?. . .
She stays at the railing,
green flesh, green hair,
dreaming of the bitter sea.

*

‘Friend, I wish to trade
my horse for your house,
my saddle for your mirror,
my knife for your blanket.
Friend, I come bleeding
from the Cabra Pass.’
‘If I could, young man.
I’d make you a deal.
But I’m not me any more,
my house is not my house.’
‘Friend, I want to die
tucked up in my bed:
a steel bed, if possible,
with the finest linen sheets.
Don’t you see this wound
from my chest to my throat?’
‘Your white shirt sports
three hundred dark roses.
Your blood smells strong
oozing all around your sash.
But I’m not me any more,
my house is not my house.’
‘At least let me climb
to the high railing,
let me climb, please,
up to the green rails!
Balustrades of the moon
where the water roars.’

*

And so the two friends climb
up to the high balustrade.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of tears.
Little tin lanterns
trembled on the tiles.
A thousand crystal tambourines
wounded the dawning day.

*

Green how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed.
The long wind left
a strange taste in the mouth
of gall, mint, and basil.
‘Friend, tell me, where is she,
where’s your bitter girl?’
‘The times she waited for you!
How often she would wait,
bright face, dark hair,
at this green railing!’

*

On the rain- well’s face
the gypsy girl swayed.
Green flesh, green hair,
and eyes of cold silver.
An icicle of moonlight
holds her over the water.
The night became intimate
as a small town square.
Drunken Civil Guards
beat at the door.
Green how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
Boat on the sea.
And horse on the mountain.