confession (gl – en)

non son nada
ren
ou se algo for sería 
o brillo sobre un croio
no que non asenta o musgo

escribo como un carpinteiro
que usando taboas medio podres
constrúe un galpón
por onde se coa o vento
que abanea as arañeiras

nunca souben que é unha alma
nin tiven mais coñecemento 
que o das cousas sólidas
vivín como un animal
que se alimenta dos restos
dun vertedoiro
coa pelaxe chea de calvas
e costras de feridas recentes

non son nada
e se algo puider ser
sería un vagalume pequeniño
que un neno de doce anos
atopa nun valo nunha noite de verán
un lucecú cunha pequeniña luz 
que se fixa imperecedeira
no vizoso territorio 
da infancia
e se torna faro
guía para voltar
ao asombro deses ollos 
que buscan xoias na noite
cando camiñes
no ermo azoutado
pola nevarada

confession

I'm nothing
nought
or if I were something it would be
the glow on a pebble
in which the moss does not settle

I write like a carpenter
which using half-rotten boards 
builds a shed
where the wind blows 
waving the cobwebs

I never knew what a soul is
nor did I have more knowledge 
than that of solid things
I lived like an animal
which feeds on the remains
of a landfill
with the coat full of bald spots
and scars from recent wounds

I'm nothing
and if anything I could be
it would be a tiny firefly
that a twelve-year-old boy 
finds in a fence on a summer night
a firefly with a small light
which is fixed imperishable
in the fertile territory
of childhood
and becomes a beacon
guide to return
to the astonishment of those eyes
looking for jewelry at night
when you´d walk
in the whipped moor
by the snowfall