I take pleasure in and comfort from Féderico García Lorca’s small poem, compact and contained from its title to its last period/punto.  It is the only poem I have managed to memorize.  The trail of ‘o’ sounds bubble.


Todo es abanico.
Hermano, abre los brazos.
Dios es el punto.

Loosely translated in my mind:  The rays of the sun radiate like a fan.  Brother, open your arms.  God is the point (like the base of a scallop shell).  Open to God the way you open to the sun.


Everything’s a fan.
Brother, open up your arms.
God is the pivot.

~translated by Christopher Maurer, "Selected Verse, Revised Bilingual Edition"