Los Saeteros

On the green night,
The arrows leave traces
Of hot lilies.

The moon's prow
Breaks through purple clouds
And the quivers
Fill up with dew.

The girl
Sings arrows.
The little bullfighters
Surround her,
And the barber,
From his door,
Follows the rhythms
With his head.

Between the basil
And the mint,
The girl
Sings arrows.
That girl,
Who looked so much
In the pool.

The arrow singers are blind,
But like love,
The arrow singers are blind.