Translated by Jack Little
Intact
Certainty is the skin reflected in the water
They are the hands that sail in the deep
until one denies the horizon
sitting on the white stone of old age
There is still time to nominate
under the mountain
the light that leaks in the powder
Trees shooting
begin to color the landscape
of sharp cracks and veins in the night
The city is repeated
with her constellation of hostile eyes
denying the pulse of the sun at the temples
also
dawn
remains intact
against the sea.
The Rails of the body
We suppose that it is true. One leaves
home, watches faces
on the bridge
or the avenue. Someone sleeping in the car
One listens. And we all go secretly
we sign keloids
riddles
hastily crossing their eyes
Very soon we burn
between tar and moth filled evenings
The monologues on the rails of the body
leave behind a sound that falls
in the absences that accumulate
somewhere
The place to where you will arrive
with a swollen pocket
and an empty hand.
Übermensch
I await the rain, the door
and the sound of light
like those of today
from which I see
I will leave my belongings
Here I deposit the moment
watching without return
This crucifix vanishes
together with our hands.
The misery of the fixed
Days. Internal landscapes
converge in the crystal river
of the everyday crust
Prolong the light
in the only port under eyelids
The dementia
leads to a tunnel
toward the sulfur
the intoxication.
Ingrid Valencia was born in Mexico City, on February 26, 1983. In 2005, she founded the cultural magazine La Manzana. Her work has been compiled in anthologies and in magazines and she is the author of the poetry collection The Endless Shadow (Literalia Publishers, 2009)