translated by Mónica de la Torre
Blissful dance. Scream
of the shadows in light.
Night that pours its animal shrill
into the morning’s joy.
There it ramifies,
bursts, intertwines itself. It blossoms
on its clearest edge. It’s the allure of forms
in their steep nearness, their engulfed
proximity. Rivers become entangled with, yet do not merge,
an obscure lightning, an arborescent
sliding between the blazes.
It’s the pleasure of opposites: the scattered pondering,
the swarming and resonant jungle.