Intermezzo - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

You have come to the city

inhabited by gutters

fed with street sweepers

while we sleep

You bring the slumber

of Southern nights

when window sills

fill up with geraniums (and staircases)

And this poem is breaking apart

like a freshly poured pint

and women embracing

in the face of incomprehension

from the lips shadowing

the malted hops

Shhh, the words you do not utter,

I will die tomorrow,

but you should revive that window sill,

that tear Boabdil

did not shed

for your dream

                   (you do not dream on the window sill)