A night
A night full of hushings, of the curled wool of perfume
And incanting wing,
A night
Where phantasmagoric glowworms bump in nuptial blackness,
At our own pace, linked together,
Mute and glittering,
As if we could portend ruin,
And your hot fibers all slopped and tangled,
Along the path strung with flowers, which crosses emptiness,
We walked,
And the disc of silvery water
In tumbling azure splashed and laughed,
And your shadow,
Fine and dripping,
And my shadow,
Which the rays of the moon nailed down
On the sad sands
Of the pathway, our shadows joined
And became one
One
One
And they became one horn of shadow!
And they became one horn of shadow!
And they became one horn of shadow!
Tonight,
Here I am, myself,
Full with the black cakes of loneliness and of your death,
Separated from you by all—time, tomb, earth—
And by the nothing
Where no voice can reach;
Mortally then and silent,
Along the path I roamed,
And the dogs’ snapping at moonlight rang out
At the splendor
And the chirping
Of the frogs—
A chill It was the chill that in the tomb
Your face and hands sang with
Under a starry vibrance
Of funereal linens
It was the grave’s face of pebbles, death’s slick,
It was the coldness of nothing
And my shadow
Frayed by wild silver,
Walked alone,
Walked alone,
Walked alone amid nothings,
And your shadow, trim and quick,
Fine and dripping,
As in that luxuriant spring night expiring,
As in that night full of hushings, of the curled wool of perfume
And incanting wing,
Came and creased through mine
Came and creased through mine
Came and creased through mine Oh the shadows fuse!
Oh the puzzle pieces of the shadows interlocking,
Oh the shadows chew through each other across zodiacs of sorrows
And tears.
José Asunción Silva (1865 - 1896) Colombia
Translated by Robert Fernandez
Source: inTRANSLATION
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