and so

And so: the stones were already thrown
into the sea. The stones, the words, the ephemeral
treasures of the spectre. In its mansion
a terrifying unknown quietude
flourishes – a quietude without gestures;
neither gadgets nor strange rites with
which to cheat the great devourer.

And this quietude is not death: silence,
but from a null voice, the stopping
of a failed pendulum, freedom
of he who dwelt in the cellar. The door
remains ajar. The sun is new.
And some seeing eyes watch the sea.

Raúl Gustavo Aguirre

the mutilated man

OH summer of ephemeral creatures,
summer that trusts in my eyes,
summer of the pure games of those about to die.

Free now from my iron head,
from my stealthy feet,
and from my nimble hands

I enter into the depths of your home.

Raúl Gustavo Aguirre