(Translated from the Spanish by Indran Amirthanayagam.)
The blues on fire
moving constantly
crash, agree and liquefy.
An orange sun still
lights the terrace,
the clay of the road,
the cypress cups,
the city below in a hollow valley–
a white tide of lights
that grows while the night
thickens the wood.
Around the table,
friends eat and talk,
attend a double feast:
one that occurs up there in the firmament–
celestial choreography
in which the day flees–
and which the dialogue creates.
In the silence between two words
a cricket sings:
the emanation of a star
sparkles far away.
Another light shines in the eyes
of those who hear and contemplate.
Echo of the echo of an echo,
star, song and flame,
Only the poem writes itself.
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