The Moon Rises
Federico Garcia Lorca

This poem is an old standard of understated, crystalline surrealism. Fits right in your pocket. I was working on the journal entry right around January's Poya day, the monthly Buddhist full moon holiday, and ran into a copy of this Lorca poem that I had stuffed into my journal ages ago.   -- STK

When the moon comes up
the bells are lost
and there appear impenetrable paths

When the moon comes up
the sea blankets the earth
and the heart feels like an island
in infinity

No one eats oranges under the full moon
one must eat cold, unripe fruit

When the moon comes up
with a hundred equal faces
silver money sobs in the pocket.