A azotea do edificio roza
a barriga branca dos avións
no cedo da mañá son
fío branco que zurce,
nas teas que a noite teceu,
os baixos da saia do día
*
o ceo azul da cidade
varre a cinza recén enfriada
coa mesma agulla decote
sen se decataren
cosen as cativas sementes
que a miña perenne fuga esparexeu
nas cunetas desta metrópole
Planes and ditches
The roof of the building scrapes
the white belly of the planes
in the early morning they are
white thread sewing up,
in the fabric the night has woven,
the hem of the day’s skirt
*
the blue sky of the city
sweepes up the recently cooled ash
with the same needle every day
without realise it
they sew the weak seeds
that my perennial escape scattered
in the ditches of this metropolis
abel abilheira 