Conversas de outono (gl – en)

Este amencer de árbores espidas 
cando o tráfico aínda dorme 
conduzo pola ruta da liña cento once
de camiño ao taller que nunca pecha os ollos
vou acompañado ao teléfono
"qué fermoso amencer no chan cuberto de follas"
avanzo atrás do autobús ecolóxico
respetuoso co límite das 20 millas
leva un cartel de letras que corren
con mensaxes do covid
"wear your face mask and so on"
Tento que vivas ti desde tan lonxe
o percorrido de árbores liberadas
pola paz destas rúas medio espertas
e ao mesmo tempo sinto do outro lado 
a casa nosa que te rodea, 
o arrecendo da leña ardendo
para quencer a cociña
e afora a ameixeira a coidar da fachada 
o rabirrubio vixiando decote as fronteiras 
e na horta e nas viñas
malia estrugas e silvas
nacen flores de orballo que che adornan as pernas
e entre este ir e vir de palabras 
envoltas en follas de papel 
do xornal cheirando a tinta
vai nacendo en min o extrano sentimento
de pertenza a un fogar, a unha cidade
amarrando por fin a alma 
que como un globo de helio solto, 
leva anos vagando paseada polo vento
volvo sentir esa calor no peito 
e as raíces atopan terra escura 
na que de novo buscar alimento

Autumn conversations

This dawn of bare trees
when the traffic is still asleep
I drive the route of line one hundred and eleven
on the way to the workshop that never closes his eyes
I am accompanied to the phone
"what a beautiful daybreak on the ground covered with leaves"
I walk behind the green bus
respectful of the 20 mile limit
it carries a scrolling messages display
giving advice for covid
“wear your mask and so on”
I try to make you live from so far away
the tour of liberated trees
through the peace of these streets half awake
and also I can feel on the other side of the line
our house around you,
the smell of burning wood
to heat the kitchen
and the plum tree taking care of the façade
the black redstart continually guarding the borders
and in the vegetable garden and the vineyards
despite nettles and brambles
dew flowers are born that adorn your legs
and between this coming and going of words
wrapped in newspaper sheets 
still smelling of ink
the strange feeling of belonging 
to a home, to a city
is being born in me
finally tying the soul
that like a loose helium balloon,
has been wandering in the wind for years
I feel that heat in my chest again
and the roots find dark soil
in which to search for food again