Patch Native Expansion

'm leaning
looking down a deep cleft in the earth
where
tiny cars and people moving by his narrow background.
Although I protect my father's arms
me realize how long it would fall, how much danger
: I cringe, I grab my father
stronger.
Was that really a crack?
No, I understood later, much later,
we were in a building somewhere
leaning out the window watching the street.

A picture book: the light of the desert,
a man and a woman in sandals,
pastel robes, bathrobes loose
working a sort of dough, kneading
man in a manger,
women cast into a wheel.
For some reason I thought they were angels in heaven
, practicing human affairs.
Was there any truth to that?
No, the book in Sunday School, represented
an everyday scene from the Bible
in which they were just doing jars.
Only
jars, but those threads of light obscured
clay as the color of the skin is numb
under
her hands and I knew in the turgidity of the meat, which would check
later when
to alone with someone in the dark
closed his eyes and stroked
hands and mouth all over, trying to experience an ideal
, part of the radiation

who passionately believed that there were,
and not just in the imagination .

O, with love itself, love
next to me without delay as
intense, so convincing each time and every time
destroys me
when clouds and collapses
leaving me alone with the memory of his presence.
Have I ever experienced true love?
Have I perverted if so?
Even now I feel a chill fear
to think that I could not have found you, my love
or not believing in you, and rolling gait even on another roof.

(Translated by Jaime Priede)