Midday late at night (Mediodía la alta noche)

Here it it, something I once experienced in Luleå, Sweden. Somehow magical. From my Dad’s book Urgent poetry (Poesía de urgencia). 

Midday late at night (Mediodía la alta noche)

The sun that used to energise my mornings

diminished its liberating aggression.

What was the sweetness of the days

is contradicted by a drizzle of salt.

There are strange noises in the silence

that used to shelter my hours.

In my poems there is now not enough room

for ideas and dreams all at once.

In this delicate symphony I hear something

that is foreign to its harmony.

In the prayer that my lips still say

thought and word do not walk together.

The book is stuck on a page

that has been left without a trace.

It was never midday late at night

like now it is in this that I write.