Lost in the woods, I cut off a dark branch
and, to my thirsty lips, I lifted its whisper:
perhaps it was the voice of the rain crying,
a broken bell or a broken heart.
Something that, from so far off, seemed to me
deeply hidden, covered by earth,
a shout deafened by immense autumns,
by the half-open and damp darkness of the leaves.
But there, awakening from the forest’s dreams,
the hazelnut branch sang beneath my mouth,
its wandering scent drifted through my mind
as if I were suddenly looking for the roots
that I abandoned, the land lost with my childhood,
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
Spanish Texts Translated 