Tuesday, December 20, 2011



If the wind wants your hat
What can you say?
The wind is a bird of hundred wings.
He knows your smile and your hair.
Wherever you go, he goes,
your houses, your table, your bed.
Today the wind is kind to you.
No gust in your hair.
No gust on your face.
He embraces you too.
Yesterday when you asked him,
"Wind, where did you come from?"
He did not know.
Sometimes when we walk on the sand,
you say: The wind comes from the sea
from the stars and trees.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Polar Bear


Desde la noche amé
la ternura del hielo
bajo mis patas.
Su claridad fue el horizonte
y el hermano que busco.
Amé todo lo que se movía
sobre sus costillas
de pájaro en el aire hambriento:
la gaviota,
el león marino.

Así desde la noche,
el aire me traía ciudades
de las que mi madre habló.

La ternura del hielo,
sus edades,
se derriten bajo mis patas.
El mar se abre
como la espalda
de una foca cayendo en el abismo.


From  the night I loved
the tenderness of ice
under my paws.
Its clarity was the horizon
and the brother I search for.
I loved everything that moved
over its bird’s ribs
in the hungry air:
the gray gull,
the sea lion.

Like this from the night
the air brought me cities,
the ones my mother spoke of.

The tenderness of the ice,
its ages,
melt under my paws.
The sea is opening
Like the back
of a seal falling into the abyss.