Member-only story
Tetris
Poetry in Translation
I have always been alone, restless,
curious to feel
the roof of my mouth,
the fabric that shrouds the corners.
Barefoot, I walked unconstrained
through people’s houses.
Was it me who turned the handle in the night?
When all the stars sparkled like a stranger’s eye
in the southeast, around midnight
an orange halo descended,
dressing a cement shoulder.
Radiant homes held life’s sleep within.
I watched them, as a spyglass tracks vestige
from miles away, when the shadow of the vessel
is the same as the vessel,
when the shadow of the man is the same as the man,
and the rhythm of life imitates the rhythm of death.
I watched them and the pulse took geometric shapes,
perfectly filling the space between them,
and the large pieces, traversed by incandescent light,
suddenly interposed themselves between me and the others.
