De la niebla / Antonio Trujillo

Of the Fog

All of that could have been in the ages
of the recent plumage and of the fog
Migue Ramón Utrera.

The tongue
of the valley

Desires the humidity
of that height

And there’s no vestige
of the landscape

All of the fog
comes from us

There is a smell
of fog

Of an engraving
of a rusted sky

If it descends
the rain won’t come

A certain tremor
says it.

To the center
just to look

The sky
and the hills

Don’t forget
Have edges

tossing flowers

it devours you

offers itself

And the light
isn’t enough

takes you

Through spikes
to the frond

The nascent
lives below

You should drink there
like the birds


The path
is another

You say fog
and the sky listens

You name it
and the trees tilt

The gesture
where we’re lost

You forget it
and it chases you

It is a desire

You think
someone has died

and it’s raining

Once again
it’s in the valleys

Not a single tree
reigns over your heights

Toward the landscape
you live blindly

Though the sun
lifts that white sea

That fog from last night

The fog forces
it knows you’re alone

The mountain offers
not even a magpie

The fog
challenges you

And the field
is it

You descend
without knowing

You think you’re there
and you break

In another house

I walk
in what’s possible

Until dawn

I wait for the branch
that breaks the dark

And I give
in this fog

I look
and it’s not enough

It too
is fugitive

The fog
changes and moves the houses

not a single word
makes noise

there’s no light
and truth doesn’t
sprout in the fields

Only within
too deep

A certain cold
lifts the scream

While the fog

In the leaves
makes another light

This penumbra
of trees


its own fate

There is a zeal
in the fog

I’ve seen it
covering the grass

That lights
this part of the earth

It barely glimpses you

Becomes flight
something moves it

If man
walks in it

                         to Ricardo García De La Rosa

There is fog
in the sea I hear

It grows on
the rocks

And the water
opens itself an instant

I can see it

its depth

Drink its light
and return to these meadows

it pronounces


over the landscape

To flee
through these majaguas

There is no branch
to     detain it

There it is
touching the air

don’t look for it

and stars

Go after it

If you implore
the sky escapes

If you demand

You’ll never know
what the wind does

I live in it
and nothing is dark

It surges and moves
the irises

It’s there above us

Pay no mind
to what’s dense

Mark the air

The fog
is a leaf

All the leaves

Have a path
on Earth

They flee on it
and exit to the sky

they are the forest

The penumbra
we lack

There are no fears
in the fog

It knows how to look
at your trembling from there

The fog
does not offend

It hovers
and knows how to die

It knows
this side

It is in God

{Antonio Trujillo, Vientre de árboles, Los Teques, Venezuela: Ateneo de Los Teques, 1996}

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