 Well, I'm not going to make any records for the hundred yard little dash. That's for sure Thank you for coming. I'm going to read a poem for Lewis Collins it's called Psalm to Frederico Garcia Lorca and I'm going to read the first section of the poem and This is how it starts. Thank you a Tier in the eye of a puppet Fountains trickling water Softly splashing silent Soundless and alone as Arms go limp on marionettes While ancient granada is visible through the mist Bottomless voices emerging from nowhere with haunting steps and Explosive flamingo steps Clicking a merge swirling veils and lows and lost in kars the nets as the south as a child pulls the string Making the puppets come alive in the aroma of their breathing a play has begun Eternal and contemporary Comic and tragic ethereal song that sings the silence of the earth as it drifts over piano keys playing a melody of colorful notes that become mauve gold and violet low low lovely child of the gypsies sweet darling boy of mysterious music Your sexuality is a robin's broken wing tiny blue eggs rest in a nest of storms of Stars straw Swain in the branches of the wind and this hand touches your heart as your Your lips open and your tongue flows Fuses with his thoughts Lost in a kiss that makes the child then the clocks disappear hush in the breath of the moon And the delicate breathe of orange blossoms as two one men become one Beautiful in their naked skin Because their blood Flows through the heart of Spain animating the fingertips of a poet who speaks everything without speaking Yes, for a rico García Lorca Speaks everything without speaking Look at the inflection of his hands the shade of light in his eyes the sculpted delicacy of his face as his voice confronts a social order of monotone of money hypocrisy and murder because the taste of one man of love between two men or between two women is anathema Except of course the to the luxurious to the lecherous priests and nuns The only exception to the rule Because the holy Roman church doesn't talk about it So it doesn't exist Words of love are yeast that makes the heart rise and soar Singing in the sky so it can touch the revives fire of the Sun and bring it to its Rifle home the earth Peaches blend the breeze with with the sweetness of water flowing forever until it touches Fire flower and fire and becomes the guy and golden crust of bread So everyone can eat Fred Rico You hear when nothing can be heard because as a poet the taste of salt of sounds and music and colors Dancing on clap on the on sand touch on turn on point with your arms and legs as your toes touch tiny Shells and peep and pebbles in the a burning in the abandoned roar of the sea Where your tender body is spread before your lover like a picnic So you both can feast on each other's souls. Thank you