I came for the evening
the portico
and the shade of cathedrals
—-
a dialogue
with a candle
and
the riddle of smoke
—-
a flicker
the effortless certainly
that I’ll never
wake up from the ambiguous
—-
I came for the rust
and the leaves of autumn
perhaps
Espera
aquí no hay nada
regresemos al humo –
a la canción de luz dormida
ensimismados
en la oculta mañana,
esa con olores a gris y beso –
ahí comeremos los invisibles minutos
como frutos del silencio.
I let go of the beard
and eyelids of God.
It will rain, the eyes of the earth
will go blind, white breathless turmoil.
A boy with books and grand prophesies,
composing the sadness of the final silence.
An epoch to remember what I wanted.
The river of visions carries skin and mirror,
a noise of nowhere and nobody’s scent.
What beastly ache to be a fleeting universe
with no country except the island of thought.
I have no beard and the nausea of mountains;
I have in my mouth the salty meat of the soul.
I’m lost
like a fallen color
of the ephemeral
like the remaining moan
of the ineffable
That there are tiny creations
origins from stellar elements in the psyche:
reborn in the minute.
That in the pursuit of ancient bones
this foundation of dreams that is my body
will rest in one eternal sleep:
like grass midway.
I have no doubt.
I have been wrong. The road
is the answer, obscure
and incomprehensible.
To the camino.
Pursuing the weight of the earth
… humility.
(See you in three weeks...)
La crin se desprende de la nuca
como una ola de etérea existencia,
siento ahí atrás de mi cabeza
como una melena de color y nube
fluye, entretejida, con la corriente
del universo –
mi tentación es volver a ver atrás
y caer atrapado entre curvas de pelo,
envuelto en esa tela de esencia
que me deja dormir
como un piojo poeta.
We have landed
in the experience
to reenact
the dance and
drunkenness
of stellar events
it is all
ignorance and
pure movement
in the field
of
now.
You, flesh and bone,
gas and scars
of phenomena.
My hand slides down your ranges
into the pockets of pleasure,
the possibility of birth and gargantuan
orgasm.
The winding road of decisions
and the soporiferous wind blowing
of distant causes.
The trees have danced,
reenacting the groove of colliding
cosmic bulges in the rhythm
of passing gusts.
We do the same?
In silent gaze, creating
the torture of possibility
with endless and mapping thoughts?
You and winged beasts
from dawn. Red and innocent –
open mouth and chants
from the sky… where
we belong as tinges
of intangible.
latente
con ángulo de prisa
la fila de árboles escapa
mi limitada percepción
gesticulo con los ojos
el vuelo caótico de la mosca
que muere hoy o mañana
– Desde la ventana del tren.
he sufrido y corro lejos
en busca del momento completo
he zigzagueado entre las mitades
de día y noche
cruzando las invisibles fronteras
del hombre
donde guardaré la memoria
de toda esta tristeza
que veo afuera
los arboles respiran
en su única posición
yo
como madera al destino
en busca de la brasa
que me consuma
los vidrios del tren están sucios.
I have the world
like pulp
inside my fist.
The juice that drips
like concentrates
of dream.
Wait!
I refuse to describe you.
World you are in my grasp,
but I refuse to recite your
casual contents.
I have eloped with silence,
my petty pet.
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