THE BRIDGE (Excerpt)
I don’t even know of which wealth I’m talking to you. Yet
I believe is the one that sustains us when we lose
everything; nor do I know anything about that statue
for its stony solitude or its half-finished and somehow
comic pose. What keys I wonder,
which safe? I don’t know. Sometimes I feel that I hear
that persistent ringing of the telephone in a quiet room
next door
and no one picks up the receiver because the tenant has
died
and lies frozen, with open eyes, on his bed.
His eyes,
undisturbed and crystallized don’t follow the whirling
ring of the telephone. Only his eyes, gazing all alone,
follow an unfamiliar perpendicular that falls
from the ceiling with an expression of proud vengeance
and causeless malice, with something from the secret
happiness of certain knowledge: that these eyes remain
forever untouched by the anxiety of the caller,
undisturbed from a mournful or joyous message.
Libros Libertad 