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You who are not the sea,
who trembles like a bird when wind looks at you,
who wanders the rocks, the sun of the shore,
the reason of the ocean.

You —this awakening without a compass—
who navigates the wisest calm and the storm,
unpredictable weather, tempestuous skin
at the light of the sheets.

You who are not the sea,
who will not always return,
who fills with written bottles and hangovers
the lips of the earth, the cloudy waist
of the last moons.

You who gives order to salt,
you will have a long dream,
they will tell you the story of a shipwreck.


Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams

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Book II
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