Poems that I had time to translate from the original Polish.

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to start again

I run 
and learn silence in every language 
by the method of gazing. 

At the empty sky, 
at beaks of canyon wrens, 
at a foaming stream, 
at insect swarms, 
at a pine cone. 

At a newborn's irisless eyes, 
at the finish line 
they quietly pierce me 
with the method of gazing, 
I am bleeding words 
a little more 
fluent 
in silence 
I am ready 
to start again

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(lyrics to an unrecorded tango)
Tenía todo
y todo estaba lleno
hasta que un sueño
me rozó con tu mano
ahora espero en vano
el gesto despierto
que termine este torpe boceto
de todo
bajo el nuevo

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Finitudes

The receptionist who always handed me the mail without a smile;
The cousin’s grandfather, with archipelagos of white spots on his palms;
The neighbor who climbed trees better than I ever could;
The cleaning lady on the tenth floor, always smiling, always wordless;
For years, years, years—
the same ones.

A crossroads that, day after day, shortened my life with its red light;
A train station that, week after week, shortened my life with 4AM’s fast food;
A workers’ hotel that, month after month, shelters the same yet different, stranger roommate;
An auto repair shop that, year after year, remains the same yet bears a different stamp.

There was not the slightest inkling that these things would end,
But when they vanished—there was no surprise at all.

A daily kiss on the forehead, that, like a droplet, eroded the rock;
A touch of feet beneath the sheets, that choked the throat with visions of an end;
A dog aging at a pace unbefitting human sensibility;
A grandfather who, day by day, coughed more and lived less.

Every moment carried the shadow of an ending,
But when they disappeared—I was utterly unprepared.

also included in the “Dear Friend” essay