Monkstown Road - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

Sometimes, as I walk along,
a tree crosses my path on the pavement;
when she passes by I see the eyes
in the reflection of her eyes
and she runs away feigning a kiss.

Truth is that there are streets,
avenues brimming with memory
and garbage lorries
that soil the sewer manholes,
where the lips are more than a kiss.

Right before I get there
I turn left
towards less trodden tarmacs
with windows and scaffoldings
and I see your greeting
from the door of your own inferno.