The King of Asini
Ασίνην τε…ILIAD
We looked all around the citadel for the whole morning
starting from the shaded side there where the sea,
green and without reflection, breast of the slaughtered
peacock,
welcomed us like time without any chasm in it.
The veins of the rock descended from high up
twisted vines, naked, multi-branched turning alive
at the touch of water, as the eye following them
struggled to escape the tedious rocking
of sea growing slowly-slowly weaker.
On the sunny side a long deserted beach
and the light rubbing diamonds on the great walls.
Not any living being, the wild doves gone
and the king of Asini, whom we’ve looked for
the last two years
unknown, forgotten by all and also by Homer
only one word in Iliad and even that uncertain
thrown here like a burial golden mask.
You touched it, do you remember its sound? Hollow
in the light like the dry jar in the dug soil;
and the same sound in the sea made by our oars.
The king of Asini emptiness under the mask
everywhere with us, everywhere with us, under one name:
‘Aσίνην τε…Ασίνην τε…’
and his children statues
and his desires fluttering of birds and the wind
among interstices of his thoughts and his ships
moored in an invisible port
under the mask a void.
Libros Libertad 