Lighthouse Keeper
So I waited to hear a human voice amid the roar
of the sea, a sign, a signal, something, a little
recognition of our loneliness and endurance, so
we could again endure our life in double loneliness
and disregard. Then, the shadow of a seagull that fell
on this floor through the window was a palm,
a severed palm of a hand I was ready to squeeze.
One gets always tired of the great silence or the great
clatter of the long shadows that are spread over
the desolate sea from the gestures of the lighthouse
beams on the waves or on the clouds, like the ancient
theaters with the bearded masks, cothurnus, and big
scepters. You get tired.
Libros Libertad 