Answers
What others look for
in the moon
or the stars
I look for
in the rain
between streetlamps at night.
But no luck.
Most likely
we’re just not asking right.
The Horizon
It makes sense for it
to blush
before it goes:
it lies to us the whole day long.
Sunday
There it goes,
calling it
a day,
the last
train.
A Beggar
He appeared
to regard me
from a great distance,
though we were
barely
a meter
apart:
I, standing up.
This Morning
This morning,
after showering,
before the mirror.
Suddenly
—as real and overwhelming
as ever—
the word decline.
Poetry
The autumn has come
and poetry will soon follow.
Shorter days and gray skies
—which are what she likes—
will bring her back home.
Now I just have to wait and,
when she knocks, let her in.
The pain of your absence
won’t make her want to leave.
Translated from the Spanish by John R. Sesgo