The Gypsy Nun

To Jose Moreno Villa

Silence of myrtle and lime.
Wild mallow in fine grass.
The nun embroiders wallflowers
on a straw-coloured cloth.
The seven birds of the prism flit
amongst the greyness of the chandelier.
The church growls in the distance
like a stricken bear.
How well she embroiders,
such finesse!
On the straw-yellow cloth
she’d like to embroider
flowers of her imagining.
What a sunflower! What a magnolia
of spangles and ribbons!
Such crocuses, such moons
on the altar cloth!
Five grapefruit sweeten
in the kitchen nearby.
Five nasturtiums,
the five wounds of Christ,
cut in Almeria.
Through the eyes of the nuns
two horsemen gallop.
A muffled far-off sound
lifts her petticoat,
and looking at the clouds and hills
in the distant wasteland,
her sugar and verbena heart breaks.
What an exalted plain
with twenty suns above!
What vertical rivers
her fantasy glimpses!
But she goes on with her flowers
while in the breeze
the tall light plays chess
with the window blinds.