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
Precipice
tossing flowers
As
it devours you
Mystery
offers itself
And the light
isn’t enough
Someone
takes you
Through spikes
to the frond
The nascent
lives below
You should drink there
like the birds
Otherwise
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
Alone
moves
Celebrates
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
Contemplate
its depth
Drink its light
and return to these meadows
Sometimes
it pronounces
Decides
Light
over the landscape
To flee
through these majaguas
There is no branch
to detain it
There it is
touching the air
Wait
don’t look for it
Cabin
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
There
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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