I came, to have a smaller home,
a room wary of the seasons
and a hearth at which I spend the night
so the ashes won't wound it.
I have a table waiting for me to sit at
and a glass before me that's content with me.
The lone plant rests
a stem against the window, and the corner enfolds it
while it casts itself in all directions
surrendering itself to the fates that
would carry me to their banks.
There are no shelves for books to rest upon,
nor even a pillow for my head.
Away in the mountains, sheltered in the heights,
the eagle snatched
the hand I used a pillow.
Perhaps it has built a new nest for him
or prepared him evening tea,
but this no longer pains me.
"This is Good," my teacher said
and he took me by the hand to show me
the blaze of morning that stammers between
our feet as we trample the remnants of night.
I came, to have a river nearby
into which I cast my dreams so it will bear them
in its arms and roll on by, carrying
them to the horizon.
But I think it takes them to God,
and I laugh like children do.
My teacher said: "This is good.
You are approaching the joy of forgetfulness."
He taught me to comb the air with my fingers
and to hold water like a ball
without it seeping between my fingers.
I came, to have a song I play
when the rain of memories pours.
It clears regret from my heart
and grants me the whiteness of its hymn.
And when my thoughts wake me
it lowers its cooing to be certain that
I follow its prayers along with it.
I follow the same prayers
along with it
and with the room's emptiness.
I am like a desperate organ that finds
solace when the hands of strangers
crash its keys.
The ceiling widens in my small home
and silence puts its lips on my forehead
to kiss me before I go to bed.
I affect serenity as if I were in
the arms of the Lord.
My teacher fell silent as he clutched my heart with his words.
He planted his eyes on my face like someone examining
a glass of water.
As always, my eyelids fluttered
and my eyes became blurred,
but my cheeks did not burn
from the salt of tears as they used to.
My teacher said,
"This is good,"
and left without taking note of my bewilderment.
He continued walking earnestly.
He melted into the horizon like the light
that rises from the body when
the soul departs.
EN 
MK