Raquel Angel Nagler Poems

O l d h a b i t : t h e s i e s t a (II)

In the market of my little days
My drum plays, like a vendor of rituals,
...

On the silent unwritten palm,
Like the smell of paper in rest,
We draw lines that we can understand:
The chronicle of a little day
...

Boats
Alone on our wooden worlds
We tame the wave
As if it were the last worshipper of dream.
...

The streets that rule my city
Crush in sudden midnight on little lunar plazas
Possessed by all my demons.
...

Beneath the hallucinatory twilight,
Like the landscape of a recurrent dream,
I tie my stray seas
With the threads of equators.
...

Beneath the insomnia of a candle
I stare at the photographs of my thoughts:
The voyage of solitude, never really out-fashioned,
A little day in black and white.
...

Again at dawn
When nothing seems more difficult than living,
I hear my city close, like a cuirass of pain,
When it awakens.
...

Like the day,
I tinge my borders on the globe,
And only the quivering half-lights
Seem like fireflies of uncertainty:
...

Smuggling across the borders
My afternoons, the hours of long shadows
Play in the African desert
On the other side of the street.
...

The moons of my sadness
Are always full,
Even when they bar, like my eye,
Their solar doors.
...