SOON IT WILL BE DARK

Soon it will be dark.
The bicycles will carry the children up to the gate.
Their rapid arrival will burst into house like boiling water. 

Miles from here you will set a pot on the burner,
you will listen to the bubbling as if were a sign of life.
 
The children will ask me to listen to how far they have been in their ride:
to the municipal road, even further,
to the intersection that keeps branching and branching and until the gas station and further,
to old age, until the straight road, the side street, the surprising one.
Excited, they will speak.
They have never gone so far.
Their shoes will testify with their dust.
 
At that same hour, you will be leaning on the balcony.
In the deserted path to your house the wind will blow.
A whistle will pass through the gap that divides
the branch from the leaf
and the leaf from the fruit.
 
A faint whistle,
almost a silence.
The voice of every thing,
and the voice of the distance between them,
which holds everything in its place.

עוד מעט יחשיך

עוד מעט יחשיך