Translated by Tanya Huntington
in digressions, the growth of night
on walls, night when it is no longer night,
night on the verge of becoming thread, perimeter
of every shadow.
One by one, bricks and plants are stained by truths;
aimlessly, they grow astride the cement.
Unequivocal bodies, sterna, pelvises,
bones but no souls; there are some lips and legs
but they are far too secret, there are no thresholds;
there might be a chapel
of strange characters, half-truths
are heard, yawns;
the hushed shadow makes its way among the stones;
at half-light, the rumor of that dull instant rises
half-closed, half a cloister,
an effigy halfway.
In a tunnel made of hexagons, remember?
You were headed for the dividing line
between your own hive and the outside world.
You passed by smiling, honey on your lips,
from center to axiom, from vertex to perimeter.
The cells were trunks, insurgent in their struggle for space.
I saw your smile and dawn, your touch
you toured the hexagons one by one
filled with skin again.
At dawn, the hardened stone
stored a trembling of leaves deep down,
a murmuring of air, the unstable green
your presence left behind.
I drew closer just where you left the lamp
A useless monolith, but it allowed me to see beyond
the curtain of wilderness. Then I saw your arm
curved over the horizon, fragile over the alkaloid flowers,
elongated and red: bloody pansies, they call them.
Your dismembering arm clasps the running wind, it smells of gods;
Acacias attend you.
Silvia Eugenia Castillero has authored: Entre dos silencios, la poesía como experiencia, (Tierra Adentro,1992.)and Aberraciones: el ocio de las formas, (UNAM, 2008). Her poetry books include: Como si despacio la noche, (Secretaría de Cultura de Jalisco, 1993); Nudos de luz ( Universidad de Guadalajara, 1995); Zooliloquios, (Indigo Editions, 1997) and Zooliloquios. Historia no natural. (CONACULTA,, 2004).