DEATH IN VENICE

Death, in Venice,
they take on a trip
like a bride.

Between two blues
the mournful gondola
                            glides,
covered by slow velvets,
and you hardly perceive
                            the light thud
of one dip of an oar and then another.

Slowly, follows
like a floating garden,
the one carrying the farewell
                            made of roses
from friends.

And the mourners close
                            the cortège,
that is lost in the sea.
Accompanying them,
with its finger on its lips,
silence.

Not far off, the island waits.

Behind the rosy wall
                            that encloses it
cypresses ascend, tall
                            and dark.

(October, 1999) Meira Delmar Translated by Nicolás Suescún