Skip to content
Menu

Poetry

My words verge on silence
like great birds that disappear
into the early evening: their
strenuous white wings
carry off the intense sweetness
of dusk, visible then
in starlight.

My words turn toward the night
with no look back
at what is lost or won, or
what is missing, like those workers,
who, utterly fatigued
by a long day, return home
so the household once again can rest
and the strength that comes
with morning be restored.

Translated from the Spanish by Kathleen Weaver


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Related Poetry

Prayer to the Holy Louse

By

Jerzy Ficowski

Image of a house in the dead of night. The house sits in the lower left half of the frame and looks like a cut-out from black paper, lit up only by purple light coming from the windows and doors. To the left is an enormous tree shrouded in shadows. A low cloud hangs near the right side sky of the frame. Above the house is a vast sweep of stars on the gray sky.

Domus

By

Adélia Prado

His Purgations  

By

Thomas Lynch

The Wasp on Kierkegaard

By

Katy Didden

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest