Small Litany in a Low Voice



I will choose a Rock.
And a Tree.
And a Cloud.
And I will shout your name
until the blind air that carries you
may hear me.
(In a low voice.)

I will beat on the small window of dew;
I will extend a rigging of hemp and resin;
I will raise your sailor’s canvass
to the First Wind of your Sign,
so that the Sea may name you.
(In a low voice.)

They cry for you: four birds;
a burden of children and puppets;
the nocturnal jasmine of a Paraguayan patio.
And a poet’s guitar.
(In a low voice.)

They call out to you:
all that is humble beneath the sky;
the innocence of a crumb of bread;
the handful of salt that spills out
over a poor man’s tablecloth;
the submissive glance of a horse,
and an abandoned dog.
And a letter.
(In a low voice.)

I also have called for you,
in my night of heights and orange blossoms.
(In a low voice.)

Only your solitude of now and forever
will call for you, night and day.
In a high voice.


Herib Campos Cervera