THE MAGIC OF NIGHT Poem by Eduardo Gómez

Of ancient cities sleeping forever
of the tired rivers on the stone
of the moon turning the bull iridescent
of the flutes that sound in somber lakes
of those corners where a caress marked us forever
of the treason of Judas for a tin ring
of the crown of violets for the dead nuns
from the underside of the soul at the end of a fruitless day

The night grows.

In wastelands it spreads
like a dark air
and the muffled steps of a dead man,
brightening the torches of the temples
its transparent wings hiding the mounts
the lovers undress in its river
and children are afraid in the kitchen
when the moon hides itself and the warriors
gallop fast in the far-off field.