Boy Behind a Window
At the end of an afternoon, lost
Behind glass, the little boy watches
As it starts to rain. Burning light
From a street lamp sifts
White drops from the darkened air.
His solitary room
Envelops him warmly.
A curtain keeps vigil,
Like a cloud, over his window,
Whispering the magic of the moon.
School fades. Now comes
A sort of truce made out of books,
Of stories and illustrations,
Beneath a lamp, when night arrives,
With dreams and measureless hours.
The boy lives only in the heart
Of his tender powers, without desires
Or memories, without suspecting
That time is waiting outside,
Spying on him through the eyes of life.
In its shadow, a pearl is taking form.
Translated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, @ 2016