THE BRIDGE
And it’s a great joy for me to return to you. Those halves
aren’t heard here and even if they are they sound only
as a whole beat. The whizzing of the knife in the void
isn’t heard. Only, when I say I return to you, I feel more
intensely the time I’ve been away and its remorse.
I know the last train has passed, though you haven’t
asked me, almost empty train with the sleepy train
conductors who let their arms hang between their legs.
The baggage car bounces silently and its bounce
echoes in its hollowness although its air is filled with
the vivid, floating odours from the large baskets of
rowing fishermen, the cool odours from the starched
rolls of calico, chintz, and cotton fabrics or from
the colourful carpets and rags of gypsy vendors.
Libros Libertad 