Rider’s Song (after F.G. Lorca)

Ponto do Ouro.

Long dusty road.

Our planks waiting out the heat,

Three fires circling, mystic vultures.

The rut in the road

Invariable, venerable, one.

High velt, low velt, plain.

Dust. Always dust.

But paradise awaits us

At the sea of the golden point.

Ay! How long the road!

Ay! our nostrils flare and burn for the sea,

Our feet for her song.

Ay! Our valiant swords wait for it!

The dance of the wave!

The playful bulls of the Golden point

Happy for a fight,

The tempting cloak.

- t. t. o'neil