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        XIX

Who goes there,
unending verse among my verses,
neglected dream,
silence of lights and doors?

Who goes there,
after having left, persisting
with eyes of battle,
under the dead shadow of keys?

Who goes there,
coming without arriving, vacating
the tone of his voice,
the unending count of his steps?

In those same lips that have packed your bags
I sought the heroes of destiny.
They came one day to bring you with them,

and I understood that no one understands anything.

autógrafo

Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams


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Book II
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