The clouds divide. Darkness
opens up, a pale groove in the sky.
That thing coming from the depths
is the sun. The interior of clouds,
once absolute, now shimmers like a
crystallized boy. Roads draped
in branches, wet leaves, and footprints.
I have kept still through the transition,
and now reality is unfurling for me.
Windswept clusters of clouds
drift in different directions.
I thank heaven for having made love
to the women I have cared about.
And from the dark, pale groove,
the days come forth like scampering children.
Translated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2016
Photo by Jerry Uelsmann