repetición de un único recuerdo.
repetition of a single souvenir.
~ Ricardo Mazó, trans. by Natalie d’Arbeloff
The rain was our constant companion
and souvenir, repeating words in an almost
prehistoric language, winding its long fingers
through damp strings of our hair as we slept.
All night and all day it filtered
memories of touch and taste and smell,
rendering alike the secret life
of sewers, and parlors where drapes
and carpets proliferated
their delirium of spores. Thus
it was impossible to avoid the damp
chimeras manufactured by air:
in their green ceramic bowls, salt
and sugar became indistinguishable;
and the tongues of envelopes closed in
upon themselves. But behind sheets
of glass, we heard the harp-makers
persist— how they hailed us, bearing
the impossible beauty they wrought
from street to street.
In response to Via Negativa: Repeating Myself....