colisão com aviões
este ano (pensa ela),
este país em sangue
no bico das aves.
Elas passavam. Ficam os comboios, os apeadeiros,
o borbulhar de passos que se afastam das aves.
Era o corpo que exigia outros mapas, linhas
sinuosas ou beijos. As manhãs agora fazem perguntas,
por exemplo, quem escolhe uma morte para seguir a rota
dos outros. Sempre uma pergunta sobre o lucro.
Conclui-se que há menos razões que aves
nos telhados solitários. Há menos, mas mais sangue.
SILK ROAD OF BLOOD
The route of the birds. Those mornings when I’d
lift my head and they’d be going by
grazing my childhood. Strolling
the sky as I would stroll below. Without a street and
packed sidewalks jamming their breath for a secret
inside the ear. A trembling, almost a consciousness
of having a body. Flocked together, more people than secrets.
Maybe that is why they land upon the empty roofs.
It is the path that chooses them.
There is more to be said between the what and the who.
For example, birds have routes the war knows nothing of.
Collisions with planes in the forecast
this year (she tells herself),
this country bloody
in the beaks of birds.
They’d be going by. But not the trains, the wayside stations,
the bubbling footsteps further and further from the birds.
It was the body that demanded other maps, sinuous
lines or kisses. But mornings now are asking questions,
for example, who chooses the death of one to follow the route
of another. And always the question of profits.
One concludes that there are fewer causes than birds
upon the solitary roofs. Fewer causes, more blood.
CARÍCIA DIVINA
Cordeiro do Senhor nunca queiras escravo.
A lua como uma hóstia branca
ilumina o meu corpo a deslizar no teu.
Porque deus é amor e nós fiéis.
Porque nos fez com uma carícia
assim te acaricio e me cobres
de felicidade pela noite dentro.
Bendito seja quem assim ama.
Livrai-nos Senhor de todos os cordeiros
e dai-nos um ao outro cada dia.
DIVINE CARESS
Lamb of God, never wish for slaves.
The moon like a white host
lights up my body sliding over yours.
For God is love and we the faithful.
And since he made us with a touch
I touch you, too, with this caress as you cover me
with happiness throughout the night.
Blessed be he who loves like that.
Free us, Lord, of all the lambs and sheep
and give us this, our daily one another.
VIOLAÇÃO E FUGA
Cada coisa a seu tempo. É o que parece
quando olhamos o campo escurecer.
Por um momento as flores cintilam mais
que o meio-dia. É sempre assim antes da morte.
No ar formas vagas de aves, testemunhos passageiros.
Alguns insectos esmagados, a erva horizontal. Húmida
como se tivesse chovido. Quem conduz sabe que os gritos
correm mais depressa que as palavras. Sem faróis no escuro
da garganta. Senhor, o teu cordeiro foi tosquiado,
a lã rasgada pelo chão como sementes.
Para que manto envergarás este dia? Era quase noite,
quase tempo. A roupa arrancada à pressa.
É este o trigo da tua colheita?
RAPE AND RUN
Everything in its time. That’s how it seems
when we look at the darkening field.
For a moment the flowers gleam more
than at noon. It is always like that just before death.
In the air the vague shapes of birds, passing witnesses.
A few smashed insects, horizontal grass. Moist
as if it had been raining. Whoever drives knows that screams
travel faster than words. Without headlights in the darkness
of the throat. Lord, your lamb is shorn,
torn wool scattered on the ground like seeds.
For what cloak will you invest this day? It was almost night,
almost time. Clothes ripped away.
Is this the wheat of your harvest?
O
