What do you think, little boat of my body,
poor cradle of the years that have come before,
that like a swan I now must lead you ashore
to sing for a moment and then to expire?
If you can find forgiveness from the fire
that binds these bones, then turn and break free
from the coast. Be caressed by the grave of the sea.
Luis de Góngora y Argote
Translated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2014