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 To claim you as my own,
I will have to set free all that’s within you,
my stone-bird -
the silence of a harp long lost,
amidst the mist of the centuries.
The place where my heart finds its pleasures,
and where this rose,
these cunning women-hunters,
the fragile tribes of grass,
and the song of our roots, that will too turn into stone,
all find their names.
To claim you as my own,
I will have to set free all that’s within you,
my stone-bird.
While thinking of the tears, the grandchildren of whirlwinds,
and the letters that were never written,
because they were sent towards the darkness of the night,
and while thinking of the different languages, the confused bird,
who finds nothing to name,
between two bodies.
To claim you as my own,
I will have to set free all that’s within you,
my stone-bird -
my friend,
my brother,
my twin,
the victim of the song,
and the blow of the wind between hardened leaves.
My stone-bird, the majestic poise,
that prevents the song from swaying with us,
and leaves for us ample time
in which we exchange,
our stone-rings.
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