The Distant Footsteps
(For Spanish translation click here)

My father sleeps. His noble face

shows a mild heart within;

he’s so sweet now . . .

if there’s anything bitter within him, it’s me.

There’s a loneliness in the living; they are praying;

and there’s no news of the children today.

My father wakes, he listens

the flight into Egypt, the staunched goodbye.

Now he’s so near;

if there’s anything distant within him, it’s me.

My mother walks in the orchard,

savoring a taste already without savor.

Now she’s so gentle,

so much nervy, so much rakish, so much love.

There is loneliness in the living without sound,

without news, without greenness, without childhood.

And if there’s something broken this afternoon,

and descends and creaks

it’s two old roads, curving and white.

Down them my heart walks on foot.