When night comes and all leans on darkness,
when the night comes the sea might be asleep,
and all its strength may not suffice to move a single grain of sand,
to lend a smile to another face,
and a child may be born among its waves
when the night comes.
When night comes and the truth is a word like any other,
when all the dead holding hands form a chain around the world,
the blind may begin to walk as roots walk the slumbering earth;
they will walk holding the same heart from hand to hand,
and finding each other at last
they will touch their faces and bodies but not say their names,
and will experience a manual faith sharing its sap between them,
and the dead and the living will grow
within each other,
shaping a single tree that will fill the world completely,
when the night comes.
Luis Rosales (1910 - 1992) Spain
Translated by Gonzalo Melchor
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