Orestes (excerpt)
Soon after she raised her head over the water, not
touching anything, untouched too and serene like
a saint, and only a small lake made of the blood
of her lips remained between her feet that were
rooted in the river, a small red lake, in the shape
of a map that slowly enlarged and vanished, melted
as if its painless, freed blood travelled far away to
an invisible vein of the cosmos; and for that reason
she was calm, as if she had learned that our blood
doesn’t vanish, that nothing vanishes, nothing,
in this great nothing, the inconsolable, cruel,
incomparable, so sweet, so consolable, so nothing.
Libros Libertad 