Jorge Muñoz

Tr.: Denise DeVries

There exists

a narrow tunnel of seeming perpetuity.

A dark needle's-eye born

from the mute throat

of a comatose sky

and ending

on this face of the earth,

which opens, observing it,

as if in admiration

assenting to reminiscence.

A tunnel chiselled with signs

where inflamed fables

filter

like thin threads of light

fornicating colors

contours

essence

every time

they feel a famished avidity to love.

Tunnel with collosal shoulders

bent to an imperative silence

whose rigorous struggle

engenders fetuses innumerable

among murmurs of melding flesh,

revealing fertile shoots

the length of Melancholy.

Occasionally

like fury,

half-way up,

there suddenly appear

unforgettable flocks

of split-winged sparrows

agonizing in savage grief,

pain echoing through immense valleys,

valleys insanely

converted

to ash de

vi

o

u

s

l y

twis

t

ed...

with

ears cut off

eyes torn out

legs mutilated

arms amputated

heads decapitated

testicles castrated

ovaries violated

mouths bitten

sons drawn and quartered

hearts bled dry

rivers of tears

undefeatable souls

Guild of estival weaving

awaiting behind the new sun...

Disappeared

they disappear

Extinguished

still being extinguished

they roam

sorrowful, faithful

bursting into shouts

and knitting

unpublished vestiges

with quills of flame.

But on the other side,

vigilant,

certain hidden immortals stand firm

like part of the air

moaning in our ears:

"After all

in great and true tunnels

all is illusion, even when blood

finds its flight."