NO CLOUDS

In the end,

let someone else write my poems.

What is there left for me to say?  

There, a lily,

there, some jasmines,

there, the dew on your lips,

there, the moon burning the night,

there, the night in pain,

there, the blue stars shivering.

What is there left for me to say?  

Here you come, repentant now,

your downcast eyes.

I’d rather be banished.

I can’t live with your lies.

It’s no use. I’ll have to sleep in Phoenicia;

I’ll have to learn Phoenician.

Cast your ashes into the sea and that’s it.

No clouds to cloud any stars,

as Gonzalo Rojas once said.

Blessed be his name, tonight.

Translated by Prof. David Rock