Translated by Jacob Rhodes
29th July II / 29 de juliol II
around the borders of the brimming well
arise opaque walls
that would make any one woman believe
that she was drinking all alone.
between one wall and another,
kneeling over its rim, each woman
looks on the blurred reflection
of her own face.
each woman drinks avidly convinced
that she alone with every slurp of water
is drying up the well.
when one woman falls in
she finally gazes upon the faces of other women,
mouths puckered to the trough’s surface,
only to be seen from the bottom of the well.
because out of all of them
she is the only one
who did not know how
to stay out of
From inside a pouch / Des d’un marsupi
There is only room for one
in the most impeccable cavity that is
the very first cloister of flesh. So, blessed ones
for this sincere act of enclosure,
among this never-ending shipwreck of a life,
we search for the original four walls where
love’s focal point once was one, and for one other,
both blinded by the root of an existence
only revealed to us on the other side of all the columns,
archways, and symmetrical courtyards.
But still, you revere the serial spilling
of misshapen shapes
melting in the illusory
reward of an immense array
of diverse mouths and hands:
the first rule we learn
is the twisted rubbing on exiting the womb.
The perfidiousness of a man who loves
knows no border or fortress that can hold him.
58 / 58
the scales ready to hand, weigh up
rejection sitting on the right
and affirmation on the left.
to the right, a hundred kilos
of straw or fifteen of lead win
over the four tiny
stones to the left.
clean out your vision with
hydrogen peroxide and look again:
to the left, three rubies
and a diamond sapphire win
over the vast inflammable material
on the righthand side.
the error was in lending
more weight to a dusty scale
rather than to the infiltrated beauty
being sucked through the crystalline lens’ libation.