It never existed.
Perhaps you thought it did
because the red moon bathed the sky in blood
or the butterfly
lay pinned in its case of glass.
But it never existed: the stars were deceived
and the ear itself was also deceived,
pinned to walls of silence, night and day.
The fear was deceived. Yes, even the fear!
Fear and the restless searching
of a love that lost its light.
But it never happened:
It only seemed to, because of the slanting
and the narrow spaces and the humid darkness.
It only seemed to, in the very same way
that suddenly our mouths seemed filled with dirt
like the mouths of the dead.
But it never happened! That day did not exist
anywhere, in any calendar on this earth.
Really, it didn’t happen. Life is good.
Dulce María Loynaz
Translated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2016
Photo by Misha Gordin