by Francisco Segovia, translated by Katherine Silver
Oblivion does not hold itself
like the fist holds the hand.
Because it is not made by clenching
but rather by releasing, letting
the hand itself escape from it.
We might glimpse it in the fading
that erases the horizon each day
because nothing is concentrated there
and nothing squeezes juice out of itself.
It is empty
like the fields that
unravel from afar
in a sad haze,
We watch the soft ochre and the olive green
disappear there as night falls
and then there is nothing …
Night does not hold itself
like the fist holds the hand …
Published on January 11, 2023