I always halt, I ask myself
what satisfaction I can get, Not grounded in reality that fades into oblivion
in the shell mound on the other side of the North Star and I remain unresolved,
I still try to get the best of both worlds, But I linger, Drifting between
Africa and India, Between coming from the northern hemisphere to nest in my
homeland, In holes, In ravines, In hollow logs, And only making flowers,
Trinkets and even nests, In all human dwellings, Wherever they may be, The
sun's slowness below the horizon makes me impatient, And I hurriedly go to call
the moons of Jupiter, Of Saturn and other lands that still don't see me,
Throughout this universe, And when darkness envelops me, I let go of your arms,
I jump in freefall through the vortex of a dream that belongs to somebody
else, Until I reach the chasm that closes around my aura, Along my traveled
roads of life, And from above you emerge like the great mirror reflecting your
lost image, With this woman in long dress, Embraced in a dance for forgotten
hours, This woman suspended in the air, As if you had invisible hands holding
me above the ground, And my most immense efforts, With eyes and ears, Barely
manage the slightest movement, The slowest camera, Everything hovers, Like a
subtle mist above the swamps, In its mysterious time that seems to stop the
night, In its silence of indefinite extension that seems to hold the soul of
all dead generations, Thus, Indifferent to happiness, And resigned to the
indeterminism of its existence, I feel the approach of inexorable vultures,
Slowly circling over me, Sniffing my body of a color, Fading my consciousness
to black and white.
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