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Red tremble of brakes at night:
so I dream of love, so I remember.
Between the forgetful dawn,
sensations of murky intimacy,
when to have a familiar partner
is a relief for the alien.

Blurred gravity of windshields
in carefree seduction.
Because cars know their path
and they move like instinctive animals
toward home, surely, between our kisses
that last the length of a stoplight
and a little more; because to say tomorrow
is almost to discuss the beyond,
and we speak of the pain of schedules,
remote, succumbing to imprudence,
like the living speak of death.


Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams

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Book I
español Original version