This world. A sound sometimes dry, metallic, at times rubbery, has settled the morning for good. It has darkened little by little the songs of various birds, the croak of the daily, wind among hedges, the green yearning. A man places with inexhaustible precision one tile after the another on the roof of the house. He must be the owner. His work is like no other, constant, intended, without refrain. The noise he makes has no echo, but goes on a search, in search of the dawn. Those who live below will be voices that return, feeding on themselves beneath this roof.
From Reversible Monuments: Contemporary Mexican Poetry, edited by Mónica de la Torre and Michael Wiegers. Translated by Forrest Gander. Copyright © 2002 by Forrest Gander. Used by permission of Copper Canyon Press.