… this is the wreath of love, this bed of thorns
is where I dream of you stealing my rest,
haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.
I sought the peak of prudence, but I found
the hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,
and my own thirst for bitter truth and art.
— Federico García Lorca, from “Wounds of Love (Stigmata of Love),” The Collected Poems: A Bilingual Edition, edited by Christopher Maurer (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2002)