The final silence has fallen.
The price of my solitude is
an anguish of not knowing if time
has kept running on out there,
just as my desire ran, or if
it is waiting to come back again
to continue the journey.

The final silence has fallen.
I raised from the ruins what I could.
Forgive me.
See the deserted city.
See me fallen, alone.
I walk toward nothing, living on nothing.
I’m off, living,
and with many words still to say.

The final silence has fallen.
Pain bares itself.
In the distance a milkman
awakens the walls,
carrying mist in his eyes
and a slight smell of a baby calf.

Translation by Andrés Rodríguez