Truth occurs as infrequently
as lie. To return
is a seizure of power over the body,
armed with neither falsehoods nor nudity.
Here again, the traveler embraced,
ill-timed figure of some dawn,
with the humidity of June
under betrayed clothing,
afraid to pause or to decide.
Here again, with me and your eyes,
because the sun rises behind our back
and the old doorways are a refuge
where darkness has the skin of a throat,
imaginable only next to my lips,
under your hair,
compañero in the night still open,
to halfway tremble, tolerate breath,
redirect words in silence.
Here again. Again
without excuses, without order, with the nostalgic pain
brought on by defeat,
because life is beautiful in the embrace,
your body the reason
and I the desire.
Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams