[That there's no danger . . .] Poem by Eduardo Milán

That there's no danger,
that the word stays intact
outside the person, by their side.
That there's no need to confuse
one person with another, either one's a
social being - or a brute, the rest will leave
the stage, it was a long night devoid of
dragonflies and clouds, black -
the other person, a mask. That it's absolutely
interesting what's thought, what's done
halfway through the story, the rabble
takes you in - there are birds in flight.
Man passes, the word stays.
Of how the word stays,
as a quality of what, intact as what,
saved from I don't know what, immaculate,
stays dead, stays alive, stays a wound,
silence, no one's saying anything.

Translation: Peter Boyle