Traducción: Billy B. Thompson
The bare cigarette-burns remain as unspeakable marks
on the palm of my hand.
Between the index and middle fingers you can hold a tree alit.
The ashes, those orange worms, await while dying
on the table the voiceless silence of breathing,
exploding into hostile piranhas.
To refresh innocently and burning painfully
madness, such a provocative caress.
Two hours waiting, three cups of coffee, tweny perfectly
round vials of medicine.
Entrevista y traducción al inglés de seis poemas de su libro Navajas sobre la mesa” Traducción y entrevista: Billy B. Thompson En: Essays in homage to John Esten Keller, Editorial Juan de la Cuesta Hispanic Monographs, EE.UU, 2012, pp. 283-291.