The city tastes of the sea,
rings saltpeter bells,
sways its long arms of willow,
licks the frightened bones of its planes,
and flees in a tangled web of defection.
It frantically moves its feet in the sky,
dances in the wind and the water,
and taps its heels to the beat of the rain, click, click.
It runs in a frenzy from alley to alley,
flees as if it were fog itself,
and sinks with a clamor and din.
And there below the human soul, its smoke, its chimney,
its heaps of kilns and contentions,
its thousands of steps cleaving to each day.
A vast sea of fireflies,
the port,
its men and women.
Pedro Serrano (born 1957) Mexico
Translated by Katherine Silver
Source: Verseville
rings saltpeter bells,
sways its long arms of willow,
licks the frightened bones of its planes,
and flees in a tangled web of defection.
It frantically moves its feet in the sky,
dances in the wind and the water,
and taps its heels to the beat of the rain, click, click.
It runs in a frenzy from alley to alley,
flees as if it were fog itself,
and sinks with a clamor and din.
And there below the human soul, its smoke, its chimney,
its heaps of kilns and contentions,
its thousands of steps cleaving to each day.
A vast sea of fireflies,
the port,
its men and women.
Pedro Serrano (born 1957) Mexico
Translated by Katherine Silver
Source: Verseville
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