The Word

Then, words flowed

from the bewitchment of things, or spouted

in a dark bubbling, blood-like,

or their avid bonfires bit

the hands trying to trap them

or they crossed like birds or deer

in the sun's radiance, through the woods.

Now, when a word comes

- alone, immense, unique, lost,

a messenger successful in traversing

the most vast and naked of spaces -

we must welcome it regally,

open doors, light lamps,

and remain silent until,

incapable of lying to us, it falls asleep

and once again converges with the rocks.

Cintio Vitier

July 15, 1961

Translated by Electa Arenal