GLANCE

Glance of a journey

from out of a cell,

shelter of the warm darkness,

rift in the moss

that’s watered with the dew of the breath.

 

Foliage of beliefs.

Rainbow of longing

that unites the pollen of freedom.

Oh, the bridge of one’s own experience

over which the sleeping child crosses

the red shadow of its limits!

 

Who will hear the heartbeat,

the final dream’s cohering song?

Who will hear it when daylight comes?

 

Stalactites of desire

in the damp cavern of days.

 

Old unprotected silence;

song that perceives and lives every heartbeat,

and in its discouragement does not surrender.

 

Only the murmur of immensity,

the other’s glance,

glance of the oldest journey.

 

Translated by Anna Crowe