I live precipitously from moment to moment,

sifting sand and dirt from
grimy thoughts that stray into my mind,
folding in wonton déjà vus
and prophetic lines
that bear no resemblance to a place or space
or any state to which I'm inclined
except in a wistful haze
of wanting-ness

wanting and not knowing-ness
of things locked in entangled mazes

In fortune's blissful whiff I found you
sitting by me
by the sea
on a seat made of heathen rope
and soft reverie...

trying to remember what it was i wanted to be

Mar / Sea

a veces
yo olvido como nombrar algunas cosas –
camas, tazas, sillones -
como se llama una idea en esa lengua
o en esta –

anoche
dentro de unos de estos peleas,
me subí a la espuma-
a las olas que no olvidan nada
y no recuerdan todo
pero ya lo saben la lógica de vivir,
conocimientos de ser
y la verdad sobre el lugar
donde amor se va
cuando no puede soportar su peso propio

yo las pregunté muchísimas cosas
pero ellas no me contestaron nada

solo adelantaron, me tocaron y volvieron a su rutina

de pronto
me di cuenta
que en lugar de cada ola atrasada
una mar me haya envuelto

(*)

At times
I forget the names of things –
beds, cups and armchairs –
how to call things in this tongue
or in that


last night
in the midst of one of these fights,
I went down to the surf –
to the waves that don’t forget everything
and don’t remember everything either,
but already know
the logic of living,
the knowledge of being
and the truth about where love goes
when it can no longer bear its own weight

I asked them many things
but they didn’t reply

they just rose up, and, touching me,
returned to their routine

and all at once
i realised
that in place of every wave that had abandoned me
a sea had risen to envelope me

Cornered

(*) from what corner of my mind
do I gather the memories of your voice,
your touch
when we have never met;
when you don't even know
how I feel
without you

No tengo las palabras

(*) I don't have the words
to tell you who I am
and who I am not

I only have these pages
to show you a window, an image
of a girl reflected in these mirrors

Si yo te dije

si yo te dije que haya una tormenta dentro de mi -
una mar furiosa por la que yo no puedo navegar sola
me acompañarías hacía la luna -
hasta llegaremos en un campo iluminado,
pinchado por memorias estrellitas
a un cama donde podemos soñar en paz -
el paz de los angelitos,
en el silencio de unos millones deseos?


(*) if I told you that there is a storm inside me -
a livid ocean that I cannot navigate alone,
would you accompany me to the moon
until we arrive in a twinkling field
pierced by starry memories,
and lie in a bed where we can dream in peace,
in the angelic peace
and the silence of a million little desires?

Upon learning a new language

Upon learning a new language,
one discovers - among other things
that pictures can be squares,
that sense is not always sensible
and that mothers - like the Universe - give light to new borns.

Now ensconced in the ruffling of meanings,
I realise that,
as if identity wasn't already a tricky creature pinned to a picture and a piece of card,
it becomes a looming idea
fraught with the travails of being,
becoming
and, having been,
of something thought -
fidgeting somewhere between flighty fancy
and the permanence of stone.

One discovers then,
that there are many ways of being,
many ways of seeing
and in a moment - in a word -
the act of collecting eternity and all its allusions
into a single string of sounds
played out in a melody
of beautiful syllables throbbing, alive and unbound.

(*work in progress)