Antoni Vidal Ferrando

Another winter has not vanquished your absence.
The sunset will come back and it is as if you were
still the weary silhouette
that submits to being possessed by a smile
...

After I devoutly kneeled as was wont to do
Fra Angelico, before painting the serene sky
of ancient Florence, I have not found beauty.
...

The letters friends write you; the egg-white
of the moon, camped so many times behind
the little curtain with angels in the library;
the balusters where pigeons come to mate
...

I enter the empty cloister. The display of lights is the echo before sundown.
Now everything becomes less skin-deep. My eyes search for the fire, the
...

The afternoon is in love with the place. I speak of a patio
with birdcages and drawings in chalk
that were of suns and great ships under sail.
Like a prayer, those Sundays, with lemon
...

Rosa, to draw you an island roughly,
with words and heliotropes, I have to break the bands of pride.
From this moment, I become the follower of one who hears the rain
fall between your legs. Because the gods are generous
...

Early mornings the sea poured out more velvet.
Every day we'd go and feed the birds with bread
under a braggart sun. Every day,
and the girls wore dolphins on their lips.
...

Many paths were waterways. Man scrutinized the equinoxes, scrutinized
labyrinths and, in holy places, rescued the memory of the dead.
Everything was strange and beautiful: the violence of the abysses, the
scarlet shadows, the wild marjoram scent of full moon, the panting of two
...

We have profaned time, and being aware of it
We suddenly felt ill-at-ease.
In slow motion and with the restlessness
of huskies on foggy nights,
...

Words are deer that take flight from death
They feel the cold and bear away afternoon in their eyes
They bear away lilac moments like the Menorca sea
I have never returned to those horizons that were music
...