Poem: Translations Of An Unknown Mexican Poet (7)

Translations Of An Unknown Mexican Poet

7.

The storm blew out the trees, and night became the night
all of the dark crossed the dark. The mountain heaved
to stony feet and climbed the straining rope of a track,
hand over hand over hand over hand over hand over hand

the ground the mind slept on and dreamed of thinking,
the water the river fed to generous and gated pipes,
the fire the home subdued from lightning and burned,
the air the body breathed without breathing. All’s over.

The mountain climbed, and we hanged off its back,
precipitously,
a rope curling from waist to waist to waist to waist
to an empty noose that hanged straight by its weight.

The storm blew out the trees, and night became the night
all of the dark crossed the dark, on Christmas night.


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