I
That sturdy show
time
still surprises,
assaults,
unsettles words.
All was not said
nor did you then
dress your gaze
in blue.
All was not said,
the rain a kind of tango.
It was dawn.
II
What’s sacred is the voices
never the words.
Friends,
poetry is no longer enough.
Desert without mirrors
or mirages.
Time
where dreams
no longer profane.
Poetry
mass grave
to so much masquerade.
It had all been said
definitive voices
can only silence.
III
Sadness is not so sad
nor so arrogant
the hand of the sun.
It’s this: we’re seeking water
Where there is only thirst.
© Raquel Lubartowski. From Raras. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2017 by Carolina De Robertis. All rights reserved.