N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 2

PEDRO GARFIAS

Light

They sprouted wings towards the bandaged sky

of the wounded firemen that watered the streets

of lights and a vendor it pierces while

all the city bells

run through the textiles pursued

The hand that draws the contours

But the tower dances in my window

And then you so dead

already like that lamp

in the sun so dead even though

my eyelids try

to imprison the escaping night.

Translated by Ron Rodriguez