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Los Surcos Inundados
(The Flooded Furrows)


 The shadow of death at the threshold stops.
Oh dandún, oh dandún, do not look at its face.

 Nearby, a dawn awaited you with hunger
for your limbs scarcely patted by the world,
and gave you the sweetest humming of sleep
from within a hazy, never-ending dream.

 Your eyes are fixed, arrested: "How fixed
are dandún's eyes." And you awake, dandún,
it's true!, yes!, you awake!, and I adore your wail.
The bluish rivers will calm your anguish.

 The shadow of death from the threshold advances.
Oh dandún, oh dandún, cover yourself with the sheets.

 In his hands the kernel of the burburbur: window
wide open, almond that crackles, caterpillar,
bricks, steps, wheels: the chair gujgujguj,
the teaspoon, the cake, the bomberún, the grampa,

 the grampa, the grampa: "you put clock, or I put
teddy", burburbur, the jingle bell turns over
its beribboned chain: a sharp ting: a dimple
with syrup: dandún in romper suit and joy.

 The shadow of death is next to your bed.
Be good, my dandún, better look at the dawn.

 Your days go down a short corridor:
there are no gruff sentries for you discovering
the corners of magic, the furniture, the staircase:
on the floor tile dance your ranked soldiers.

 In each black domino with which you play hides
a purple steam, a gash, an urgency,
and you play under the table at being a cat.
Nearby, a slow dawn plays at being a stone.

 The shadow of death has leaned toward you,
(the pillow has turned blue):... two brothers.

 You have looked at death and now you close your eyes,
but behind your eyelids you still go on looking at it,
and your closed eyes, terribly open,
look, look, endlessly, staring at what is unknown

 of that faceless face which laughs laughlessly,
of that face, dandún, which resembles you,
which is like some twin that you suddenly have:
tell me, dandún, is death perhaps a daughter of mine?

 The shadow of death has lain down in your bed.
My son, dandún, you no longer belong to me.

 No, no, not that, dandún, the enormousness no,
the enormousness sticks to your lips,
you are going to surrender your eyes to a ghastly fog,
already it is enfolding you, dandún, reject it, not that,
love me some, dandún, to be mine,
love me some, dandún,
just a bit more, don't go, dandún;
oh God, and who would say that in your little body
you harbor an immense night, dismal,
starless, empty, full of infinity;
who would say that with your sweet, lost-colored eyes
you encompass a shadowy voracious wood, dandún;

 my soul, my son, dandún, oh life, live,
vibrate, vibrate, turn over, live, live, untie!,
untie yourself!, untie me!,
may the moon shine again there in your pupils,
may the sun's cherries make you laugh,
may the birds fly through your radiant eyes,
may the wave toss again in your eyes,
may the day open in you like a soft bud,
may you behold my love as the wind does the dune,

 My son, my blood stagnant in your veins
cries out to go through you, to feel you joyful
with strife, with Torrent, with greenery, with savor;
my son, my blood pooled in your veins
goes through my fibers of love of your flesh:
my blood, roll about, rebel, go through him
again, again;

 don't rest, dandún, forsake that dream,
come to my arms, son, full of light of life,
with the whole fragrance of the ripe bunch;
my blood, warm him, give him warmth again,
again give him shy vowels in his mouth.

 Don't leave me, dandún,
tell your blood to flow, to flow, to flow,
tell your eyes to open, son,
tell your fingers to grasp me.

 Oh dandún, if you are mine!, be with me always, hug me;
what is going to become of your games and of my blood, son?
Open your eyes, dandún, for God's sake, dandún, open your eyes.
Ah damned shadow, damned, damned God,
tell dandún to open his eyes:
what is he going to sleep so long for!

 Yes, dandún, you are mine, mine alone,
don't go, son, tell me that all this is a game of the night,
that you are going to open your eyes.
Dawn, give me death.

*  *

 My son of shadow, rest long.
Loneliness covers you with its veiling tulles.
The sky has become crowded with purple clouds.
The morning stumbles over the night in the bedroom.

 The murky dawn has awaited you with hunger
for your limbs scarcely patted by the world,
and gave you the sweetest humming of sleep
from within a hazy, never-ending dream.

 From the threshold the sun, lying like a dog,
gazes at the still bedspread, comes down as far as your still
chest, proceeds to your pallidly still face
and in your closed eyes places a blind glint,
in your closed eyes, terribly open.