Estoy esperando.
En los bancos, en los rincones
de las salas de espera de la tierra,
al lado de árboles cuya savia sube y sube
a escaparse en hojas grises y perderse
en el último aire.
Esperando
al que por fin llega,
tarde, perdido, siempre
anhelado, caminando
no por mi calle, sino cruzando
a la esquina donde espero.
Waiting
I am waiting./ On benches, at the corners/ of earth's waitingrooms,/ by trees whose sap rises, rises/ to escape in gray leaves and lose/ itself in the last air./ Waiting/ for who comes at last,/ late, lost, the forever/ longed-for, walking/ not my road but crossing/ the corner where I wait.
I am waiting./ On benches, at the corners/ of earth's waitingrooms,/ by trees whose sap rises, rises/ to escape in gray leaves and lose/ itself in the last air./ Waiting/ for who comes at last,/ late, lost, the forever/ longed-for, walking/ not my road but crossing/ the corner where I wait.
(de "Poems, 1968-1972". New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1988)
Foto: Rodney Smith
2 comentarios:
[também da espera se faz caminho,
como do silêncio a palavra]
um abraço,
Leonardo B.
Gracias, Leonardo.
Un abrazo
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