What Moon Is It?
There’s me, today —and I’m not surprised—, under the January moon that serves to maintain for me, fixed, a morning there once was in the town of my childhood. But what strange constancy could this be? I can’t measure it. Threads, I’d say, that don’t break, but threads that have already ceased to exist. There will be a silence to explain what I’m saying here, but I don’t think there will be an end where I’m able to touch that silence. So, there’s a January moon, and that seems to be enough. More or less, yes, that seems to be enough.
{ Lorenzo García Vega, Erogando trizas donde gotas de lo vario pinto, Madrid: Ediciones La Palma, 2011 }
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