no time remains for you to regret,
spill the vat where hatred
ferments and spoils words and wisdom
to no avail.
ashes are the promises
of stunted fires of youthful days.
no longer do you wield the knife that might
have carved the shadows.
now you have nothing but the shame
of having fled
no more are you the boy you were.
you will not be born again.
bare road, lumbering.
evening of red algae,
chimera in blood
in the wounds of a flesh
attuned to beauty,
the purple of evening dazzles me.
the voices of a body spent
venture new rhymes,
i can’t fathom what they mean to say
like fish upriver, the clearest sounds.
i am the bone that awaits its evening meal.
© Francesc Garriga. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2017 by Adrian Nathan West. All rights reserved.