Every day of the world
something beautiful ends.
as if you were an old, tired star,
light has left you. And the creature
(and who lighted
your eyes, blind to the world’s
is now mortal again.
its density, its weight, its volume,
the poor balance that supports
your new winter. Be glad.
Your entrails are now again your entrails
and not coarse food of anxiety.
You’re no longer that drunk and uncertain god
that you turned out to be. Bite
the bone they give you,
down to the marrow,
pick up the crumbs memory leaves behind.
Translation: 2005, Nicolás Suescún.
Spanish: Algo Hermoso Termina
© Piedad Bonnett