On Ghosts
I mean no offense to anyone, but I have a right to not be here, to have left, taking into account the fact that my parting is merely a consequence. And I don’t mean for you to feel guilty (in the end, he who is not present feels no guilt); it’s only to defend myself…from all of them, who lurk in these corners I now inhabit.
And Having Turned Them On
for F.H.
And nobody turned on the lamps.
And we searched for connections
even with no light.
Because it can always be glimpsed in the gloom.
And perhaps every color is only shadow.
Useless, bothersome blush.
And nobody sensed the dark.
And we lost harmonies
due to excess of sun.
Because there was never anything coming.
And perhaps we did need
a light match, maybe even
dawn.
Suspension
I’m back in that state of mind in which the drop is separated from the cloth, and I no longer read fragments, and everything points toward the same enclosure, very strict and necessary. I pass the time in that state of semi-trance in which a hope appears, a possibility I clamp in my fist, a yearning (your yearning) that gradually constructs me till the hand on my chest almost touches the organ that thunders within. I’m back in that precarious place in which longing frightens fear just as it tempts it forward, and everything depends on what peace I can keep still knowing that my desire hangs only from you.
(from Íntimo, el espejo: Poemas de Egarim Mirage [Intimate, the mirror: poems of Egarim Mirage], 2015)
Translated by Arthur Dixon
