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Your heart, closed for renovations,
goes wandering in music,
not wanting to answer me.

Always the outlaw, it does not resist
coexisting under this metal
kingdom of words.

The gaze it carries knows
that errant pain
of nocturnal ships.

It became a witness to tell me
of the doubt in my eyes
and the song they hide.

It is silence, silence nonetheless,
emptiness fettered
to moonbeams.

What road without crosses, without kilometers,
knows how to lead me to it?
Where can I find it?


Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams

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Book I
español Original version