I know that my profile will be serene <br />in the north of an unreflecting sky. <br />Mercury of vigil, chaste mirror <br />to break the pulse of my style. <br /> <br />For if ivy and the cool of linen <br />are the norm of the body I leave behind, <br />my profile in the sand will be the old <br />unblushing silence of a crocodile. <br /> <br />And though my tongue of frozen doves <br />will never taste of flame, <br />only of empty broom, <br /> <br />I'll be a free sign of oppressed norms <br />on the neck of the stiff branch <br />and in an ache of dahlias without end.<br /><br />Federico García Lorca<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-58/
