and your pure mask of another sign.
The sea's childhood and your silence
where the crystals of wisdom shattered.
Your rigid ignorance where
my torso was circumscribed by fire.
What I gave you, Apollonian man, was the standard of love,
fits of tears with an estranged nightingale.

...traces and signs of what might be...
Your waist of restless sand
follows only trails that do not climb.
But in every corner I must look for your warm soul

From Your Childhood in Menton
By-Federico Garcia Lorca

the corby misses her sweet muse