A Dog in the Night
Shadows of the old and dead lurked behind the blinds
of the closed house, almost serene and malevolent
for this insignificant repetition, for this predetermined
failure.
Suddenly the crazy woman’s cry was heard, then
it vanished in the air leaving behind a clear schism and then
a light, airy gap. There is always an empty space in the air
in the shape of a statue that will stand there. This space
already ready prepares our mission, it recites our words
in our sleep. Then I remembered that neighbourhood dog —
without a master, without water, dish for his food, its leash,
the shadow of its master on the floor, it had lost its way
of wagging its tail and that air between the two doors of
the hallway that allowed a light current to pass through
each Sunday,
and the wind was blowing in its hair as if it was combing it.
It had lost everything. Now,
with its hair falling down, its dirty, dead tail, its big eyes
full of eye gums. It walks around, smells the air. Where has
his Lord gone? And why? An unanswered question hangs
over the yards, the walls, the sounds of the street, when
the marketplace clock strikes. And that closed house with
its high fence-wall. How can it enter?
Why did they shut it outside? It glances the birds with
tired eyes. They can fly over the fence-wall
perhaps they eat the food off his dish,
perhaps they even go inside the house
from the hole of the wood burning stove, or the chimney,
or the broken window.
Libros Libertad 