lunes, octubre 06, 2008

Rolando Riveros Vidal

The seed fell like a star on the quiet humus.

Silently the leaves settled to cover a green tear asleep.

The old nothofagus remembered his first shoots like arms greeting the sun. They were the first letters of the day written in green ink.

History advanced with caterpillar steps through the slow noon foliage. Or it was the Milky Way filling up with small fiery butterflies.

The song of the stones awakened the fishes one by one.

Somewhere a hummingbird etched the first love poem into the air.

When season and station were no longer favorable, poets with their blue spores traveled on a silent train, looking for the seashore.

From up high you could see the water clock with its white hours kissing and forgetting the promises of the sweet river mouth.

Now that the books are burning their last leaves, I would like to hear those violins to bring me the sap of a green tear from a seed.

Fuente: California Quarterly, Volume 34, Number 2. Translated by Margaret Saine, Orange, California.

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