(from the Spanish of Miguel Hernández)
Love rose between us
like the moon between two palm trees
that never embraced.
An intimate murmur in both our bodies,
love swelled to a song,
but the sound was hoarse and strained.
Our lips were like stone.
The urge to cling drove on our flesh,
lit up our fevered bones,
but our arms when they reached out
died in each other’s arms.
Love passed, the moon, between us
and consumed our lonely bodies.
Now, two ghosts who seek each other,
we meet far away.