Carles Duarte i Montserrat Poems

'More fortunate than either, I reckoned those yet unborn'
Ecclesiastes, 4.2

The yet unborn
has known neither pain nor word,
...

A dawn of crystal cuts the sky,
and the marbled moon
turns Eastwards away.
In your eyes thick silence
...

Land,
dust,
mould of fire,
refuge from the oceans,
...

You search everywhere for traces of other lives,
of the dreams that made them pulse,
of the gods that calmed their fear,
...