I knew for years the archaic term for refrain—
               the part of the song you carry—
is burden. It carries you. Refrain, also, as in
               hold back. The burden holds me back.
If I didn’t have you, my father said, passing
               the fire, I’d get out to help. It made me
imagine people inside. I lived instead.
               Burden, I learned, after the bees began
producing rust-honey in their rust-wax
               hives, is also what you feed
into the blast furnace. A burden of rust-honey,
               into the furnace shaft. The slag
is gummy. It sounds impossible. It’s also
               dull. The house kept burning and we ran
for help. It means we’d stopped to watch.
               It sounds impossible. It’s also dull.
Tenderly, though, his running desperate, 
               yet matching his steps to the child’s. 
A sweet smell in the tetanus.

translated by Sarah Arvio

To find a kiss of yours

what would I give

A kiss that strayed from your lips

dead to love

My lips taste

the dirt of shadows     

To gaze at your dark eyes

what would I give

Dawns of rainbow garnet  

fanning open before God— 

The stars blinded them

one morning in May

And to kiss your pure thighs

what would I give

Raw rose crystal  

sediment of the sun

*

[Por encontrar un beso tuyo]

Por encontrar un beso tuyo,

¿qué daría yo?

¡Un beso errante de tu boca

muerta para el amor!

(Tierra de sombra

come mi boca.)

Por contemplar tus ojos negros,

¿qué daría yo?

¡Auroras  de carbunclos irisados

abiertas frente a Dios!

(Las estrellas los cegaron

una mañana de mayo.)

Y por besar tus muslos castos,

¿qué daría yo?

(Cristal de rosa primitiva,

sedimento de sol.)