Strange songs, so strange they almost make me weep
but of course I can’t, I won’t.
I’m not doing anything sad.
This is life, there are people with whips
and people with scars
from the lashes.
Which would you choose?
Tell me,
which?
Silence! I shout,
but the noise goes on and on.
The boy keeps whispering rhymes
to comfort his weeping mother.
Lope de Vega, he says, naming a poet
then whispering the verse,
something about an angel
telling a soul
to come to the window
and look out …