Secret Garden

[Everything is full of you]

Everything is full of you 

and I am full of everything:

the cities are full,

and the cemeteries are full,

you, with all the houses,

me, with all the bodies.

Down the streets, I will leave

something that I will retake:

pieces of my life

come from far away.

I go, feathered by agony

against my will, to see myself

in the threshold, in the bottom

hidden since birth.

Everything is full of me:

of something that is yours and memory

lost, but found

once more, some day.

Days that linger behind

decidedly black,

indelibly red,

golden upon your body.

Cast from your hair,

everything is full of you:

of something that I haven't found

and look for among your bones.

FERNANDEZ MIGUEL