THE FATHERS ARE DYING ...
Carlos Barbarito
trans. Brian Cole
°***°
The fathers are dying, dying
from a fruit plague, wrapped
in the same sheets in which they were born.
In the last dream, an open
pole and a landmark in the bareness of the wind.
So the world grows dense.
So maps and stars are fulfilled in the cold.
They are dying while, in Delft,
drops of blood, wine lees,
diamond powder, human and mouse
sperm, mosquito eyes,
spiders' webs, gills of newts
still reveal their minimal, infinite life
to a micrograph that no longer has eyes.
Will they wake up somewhere else?
Will they get new faces and feelings
further away from these sands,
will the stones open
before them, or the surf?
They sink naked into dry beauty.
They fill up with weariness, with bromine.
...
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