A garden without flowers

If our hands join together 
our skin switches on like a light
upon suburban rooftops.

Beneath the objects resides a secret heart.
On the surface of the faces
breathes thought.

On the face of mothers their children.
In the eyes of memory
passers-by without destination.

Every object has a word
just around the corner.
The words all join together in an unusual garden.

There were flowers for everyone.
Black flowers that no one remembers.
White sheets concealing our dreams.

Translated by Sandra Kingery. Taken from the book “No es nada” (2008)

Deja un comentario

Tu dirección de correo electrónico no será publicada. Los campos obligatorios están marcados con *