The clay chooses a man

The clay chooses a man, it points at him and matures him,
it gives him his splendor and his quiet strength
and a bit of ashes it pours into his blood.
Afterwards the man searches, undoes himself, remembers,
unravels his hours,
puts his blood against the light
and one afternoon he understands that oblivion has triumphed.
It is time, he says to himself,
it passed over my head
it rained on me
it trembled on my breast
and it lit another lip to swell my sadness.
Then he searches, he looks, he returns for his forehead,
he asks in the winter about his interrupted summer.
And only the air, the dream, vague things, a bitter sweetness,
wound him without wounding him, they undo him, singing.

El barro escoge un hombre

El barro escoge un hombre

El barro escoge un hombre, lo señala y madura,
le da su resplandor y su fuerza callada
y un poco de ceniza le derrama en la sangre.
Después el hombre busca, se deshace, recuerda,
desovilla sus horas,
pone a trasluz su sangre
y una tarde comprende que ha triunfado el olvido.
Es el tiempo, se dice,
pasó por mi cabeza
llovió en mí
tembló sobre mi pecho
y otro labio encendió para henchir mi tristeza.
Entonces busca, mira, regresa por su frente,
pregunta en el invierno por su roto verano.
Y solo el aire, el sueño, las cosas vagas, una amarga dulzura,
lo hieren sin herirlo, lo deshacen cantando.