The Lingering Wound • poems by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena

At Antonio Machado’s Grave

I raise a toast to you, brother,
with the sparrow
atop your tombstone
as my witness,
in this burning summer sun.

I offer a prayer, instead of
reading your poems, but it’s too early 
for that. The moon, still hidden

in a woman’s breast pocket.
Until now, they have not found
Federico Garcia Lorca’s bones.