Everything Is Full of You
Everything is full of you
and everything is full of me:
the cities are all full,
the cemeteries all are too.
The houses are all full with you,
and their bodies, full with me.
I’m going out into the streets
to discover something again:
the scattered pieces of my life
are returning from far away.
And I will go, with wings of agony,
dragging myself, to find myself
in the doorway, at the bedrock
of something hidden to me since birth.
Everything is full of me:
full of something that’s yours, perhaps,
a memory lost, but found again,
another time, another day.
The past we left behind
is definitively black,
is unforgettably red,
is golden upon your body.
Everything is full of you:
it’s transmitted from your hair
or else from something I still can’t find
and search for between your bones.
Miguel HernándezTranslated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2013