AT LAST ONE MONDAY

Eternity begins at last one Monday,
the day that follows hardly has a name,
the comes the darkness of the abolished [one.
In which familiar murmurings are hushed,
the face we loved begins to fade away,
and hope is useless, no one ever comes.
Eternity ignores our sherished habits,
it does not care for red or tender blue,
but fervors gray, and smoke, and simple [ashes.
Name and a date you might engrave on [marble,
it brushes them aside in negligence,
no little mound of bitterness remains.
And yet, you see, I closely cling to [Monday,
and call the day that follows by your [name,
and with my burning cigarette I write across the growing darkness: here I've [lived.


THE GENERAL WOULD SAY

From time to time the General would say while spreading wide his thin transparent [hands
«and so it was we saw him on that day right in the midst of the disdainful rain

astride his black, his memorable horse». The shadow of the roof would come and [soften
his shirt that seemed like stark, [unblemished snow,
and the harsh curve of his severe profile.

And while inside the patio of finest blue nearby the sadness was again reborn
that grows at night from the banana trees,

beyond the royal palms, beyond the road, a neat, clean poverty their uniforms,
we heard our gods in silence riding by.


MORE

in a dark wood...

A poem is at most
a conversation in the dusk
besides the ancient oven, when
they have all gone, and out of doors
the deep wood rustles; yes, a poem

is hardly more than a few words
that one has loved, and change
their place with time, so that
they now become a blot, at most
a hope without a name;

a poem is hardly more
than happiness, a talk
within the dusk, or all
that has forever gone, and is
no more than silence now.


PORTRAIT WITH
THE WONDROUS BAND

The wondrous band that's on the stand awakes the twenties' wind,
and blows up high the frosty ribbons of the slender girl through whom time never [passes.

And silent, quiet, lovely, and apart,
she looks with vague and graceful eyes upon a spring that is no longer here
-so far, so far away the twenties.

Oh do not gaze into my room, look at the [stand,
try not to see this empty page,
but turn around to where the music [sounds, the breeze
that blows among the dusty laurel [courtains!

For time in you forever stands so still.


IN THE MIDST OF NOON

(Fragment)
Right in the midst of a whole roaring [avalanche of fire stands my father.
The light tears flashes, no, tears leaps of [furious snow
out of the flight of steps my father has [designed
with humble pride, and all around him fly in flakes of light the trunks of royal palms. His clothes in truth do burn as white live
[—coals
that scorch and then transfix and fuse his [face
into a joy that goes beyond
the consummation of his project, far [beyond
his fierce resplendent stature.

THE YOUNG GIRL AT THEATER

(Fragment)
And while you leaned
impatient on the abyss,
questioning

the dusty purple,
I saw your beret bravely aslant,
your swift and serious eyes,
your soft

straight careless hair, oh huntress,
and I was struck with terror at the [dreadfulness upon your
fragile shoulders:
morning fell

in floods of light,
in fugues and murmurings,
and nothing now
could shelter you from youth.


AT PEACE

The cat asleep within the kitchen,
the rain runs swiftly outside.
A hundred and a thousand years of [gloaming
and afternoon a whiff, outside.

The cat asleep who knows since when
but rain never is the same outside.
At peace the cat, and sleep at peace,
and water fleeing to the sea
[—outside.


AMAZEMENT

Amazed at ants that while they come do go I'm frightened by their self-sufficiency: for they are what they do no questions [asked
and if such bits of life machines are they though small so perfect that in truth they [know
the where and whence that have become [their own
and death they would ignore if it were not at least and last such useful instrument
with which to make new life out of
[the still.

But though their tiny liveliness increases the rounded awe in which I look at them and it does pain me that they'll never [know
themselves just as they are in their dark [toil
as immemorial now as Earth itself.

my pain as such is more amazing yet
as it does prove that knowing one's own [self
is worth all pains though the price [becomes as high as
the enormous silence that awaits beyond.


DAGUERREOTYPE

There sits grandmother: a young girl
[is she,
her fragile slender face
poised on her haughty neck: how still she [gazes at
the hidden eye which in the darkness [stares at her
out of an abyss s if she deigned
to turn her eyes upon the bearded
[sadness of
her smiling father, she would rise.
But she just keeps her seat, so still.

Soon she will stand anew. The day
will drag her then along with light up to
[the porch
while the whole street vibrates with [cosmic shock
of hoof and hoof. Now is she lost at last. When next I see her, she'll be old.

But in the meantime, quiet, still,
she keeps on gazing at the dark deep well, her fragile, slender face
poised on her haughty neck. How young [she is.
She's simply sitting there, that's all,
[ you see.


A SONG FOR ALL OF YOU

The fragrant now within your eyes no only [I love,
I love the hidden child that through them [looks upon
the vastness of this world in
[rounded wonder,
as I do love the gray-haired stranger
[who remembers me
from her own nook of time that winter [shelters.
The multitude of you, your hurrying hours, I love your thousand images in flight
that are a flock of wild and fleeing birds. Not only do I love your Sunday of such [brief delight
but also a tragic Friday yet, who knows,
a Saturday in triumphs and
[glories crowned
that I shall never see, and praise no less [for that.
A child, a girl, a woman, you are all, against my breast I shelter them, they fill [my heart,
and thus in peace I love you in each
[ and all.


TESTAMENT

Thus having reached that time in which
the dusk no longer comforts me
and I am frightened by small omens;

thus having reached this time at last;

and as the coffee-dregs now open wide so suddenly before my eyes
their round and bitter mouths,

thus having reached this time at last;

and furthermore all hope being lost
of some well-earned promotion, of
seeing the tranquil spring of darkness;

and owing nothing but this time of mine;

not owing anything at all
but my remembrance of all nights
and their enormous trembling gentleness;

not owing more
between this heaven and this earth
than my own memory, and time;

it is my will to make my testament.

Its this:
I leave to you

my time, the whole of time