A SONG FOR JUAN RULFO
.
The silence of the future ruins
gently move to and fro in helplessness
in this place called earth
because it yet doesn't have a name
its inhabitants
have one eye on the moon of death
and the other on a burning sun
The voice
does not spring from the lips
it is the deep trance of silence
Silence is the name of this place
so-and-so is everybody's name
and stone or ash
the names we shall have in the void
.
there's geography with the foot prints of the absent
the cut-down trees lose their leaves
in some turn of eternity
and cover the streets of the century with dead leaves
Wind passes deaf and saying nothing
it is a murmur as imposing as midnight
but not everything begins or ends here
in this geography.
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