THAT WHICH IS THERE, BREATHING Poem by Héctor Rojas Herazo

Everything is the same,
All things in the same, old place:
the portrait on the cupboard,
the shirt hanging in the rack,
the particulars of a day.
Everything goes on the same and, however,
you have heard, you have a foreboding, you alertly fear,
hearing yourself,
hearing your secrets keeping secret.
You know it's there, that it looks at you,
that it has sniffed your guts and your bones,
that it measures you as a prey, as something eatable,
that same tension with which you stalk him.
Suddenly,
in an impetus of horror and infinite outrage,
its diamond spittle,
its unexpected tongue wetting your silence.