main | Vacant room | Dawning | Butcher shop | Simplicity | Farewell | Dulcia Linquimus Arva | Last sun in Villa Ort˙zar | Mythical founding of Buenos Aires | Deathwatch on the Southside | Buenos Aires Deaths | Chess | Quatrain | Cyclical Night | A thirteenth-century poet | Susana Soca | Camden, 1892 | A Northside knife | Milonga of Albornoz | New England, 1967 | The labyrinth | Invocation to Joyce | Tankas | Susana Bombal | Things | Menaced | You | Poem of quantity | The sentinel | To the German language | 1891 | Hengist asks for men, A.D. 449 | Browning poet resolves to be | Suicide | I am | Fifteen coins | Blind man | 1972 | Elegy | The exile (1977) | In memory of Angelica | My books | Talismans | The white deer | The profound rose | Mexico | Herman Melville | To Johannes Brahms | Baruch Spinoza | Alhambra | Music box | Adam is your ashes | On acquiring an encyclopedia | Nostalgia for the present | The accomplice | Shinto | The cipher | My last tiger | The cypress leaves | The weft
Adam is your ashes
The sword will die like
Glass is not more fragile than rock.
Things are their future of dust.
Iron is rust. Voice, echo.
Adam, young father, is your ashes.
The last garden will be the first.
The nightingale and Pindar are voices.
Dawn is the reflection of sundown.
The MycenŠan, the golden mask.
The high wall, the outraged ruin.
Urquiza, the one left by daggers.
The face that sees itself in the mirror
Is not that of yesterday. Night has wasted it.
Delicate time shapes us.
What hap to be the invulnerable water
That flows in Herclitus' parable
Or intricate fire, but now,
In this long neverending day,
I feel durable and destitute.