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Translated by Jason Stumpf

The day had shone

its finest robes.

Vanishing,

the outline of its seduction

left a near-penetrating

perfume:

night sky of magnificent

clarity.

 

With that red-hot coal

in the cave of the eye,

I heard a slight knock

at the window.

Words.

The half-opened blinds

revealed a smooth

flower without omens.

 

 

*

 

 

Cemeteries under snow,

lime dust confused

with the moon.

 

Clean cemeteries,

gardener’s displays.

gold work weakening.

 

Cemeteries in abandonment,

despite the stars,

the cardinal points.

 

Multiple cemeteries,

jasmined, gladiolaed,

bloomed and withered

in the lachrymal caruncle.

 

Splendid cities,

cemeteries.

 

 

*

 

 

A volcano in eruption

of rhododendrons,

right in the middle

of the burial orchard.

 

Absolute master of the powers of childhood, a creature had disappeared, on its way to the pleasure and the pain of that only season, mix of dew, intense verdure, red leaves, yellows, and snow whiter than the soul. Pandora’s Box was opened suddenly to the light of the enigmas:: its brightness wasn’t slow to reflect in the eyes of those who knew that inside was not a doll nor jokes of any kind. A wave of sublime heat. Flame in the pupils instantly cauterized the wound, the world’s, and dried its sea of internal tears. After the garlands that, in a matter of hours, would wither with the corpse, it left that peace on the earth only brought by the gift of languages.

 

Waves of petals the color of our flesh,

warm like home, like lava,

intensify the marble and the secret

between the crypts.

 

Scintillating by night,

hidden by day.

 

Jason Stumpf lives in Rhode Island and currently teaches at Providence College. Recent poems and translations appear in Lung, New American Writing, Post Road, and elsewhere.