Pillar of the Peace Neighborhood

From the railings,

on the mountain, mountain, mountain,

mules and shadows of mules

loaded with sunflowers.

A sky of white mules

closes its quicksilver eyes,

giving the quiet darkness

an ending of hearts.

And the water turns cold

so that no one touches it.

Wild and uncovered water

on the mountain, mountain, mountain.

On the bare mountain,

a Calvary,

clear water

and century-old olive trees.

Along the narrow streets,

masked men

and in the towers

weather vanes turning,

eternally turning.

Oh, lost town

in the Andalusia of tears!

(F. García Lorca)