I have heard the winter sun. It grows casting layers, tightly around its heart; it shakes its sleep, unfurls the feather coat it wears: looks on as shapes of its idols fall one by one away.

The warmth won't destroy it fully, the cold won't break the dream. It is wounded, though, by time that contains it, by cruelty, decision, by great docks in wait, eternal beginnings, measured goodbyes.

translated from the Spanish by Julia Leverone