Close

two pages from you

-the skin rubs the silence of the skin-

you, the only book I need

A portrait of you

warm

soaked in words

those meaning water

those meaning thirst

-delericte-

-oceà-

My only language

your skin of origin

samizdat

memory of inclination

Our kind of ink

is the ocean

how much water

will permit us

to open thirsty

all of the paragraphs

Among the things

that we will never lose

a starfish

that finds its vortex

and clings to it

and adds the waves

and never returns, never rests

Also to fall down like this,

carelessly,

to be multiple

and reflect you

in all of my Pieces

to make you lean towards

the water

that brings them together

To translate you

as if it were possible

to explain the Sea

smoothing out the waves

and then drink it all

up to the salt of the horizon

Mudra the Wind

Mudra of Time

Mudra the Moon

writing

all her feminine names

on the lines of your hands

your ocean-hands

Because your voice is my return

let us go now

and close the book

let us go to language

alone

let us enter

unprotected from frontiers

High seas

in my chest

your ocean-hands

cradle me

so that

I do not remain on the shore

only

 

ANA GAVILA was born in Spain in 1970 and graduated in English Philology with an MA in English Studies. She is currently a Phd Student. These poems are her own translations from a collection of poems originally in Spanish.