I will wait in the real sand,
the tangible form of rock,
in the conversion of fate by breath.
With words I feed the creation of time
— someone else can speak, someone else can write.
Liquid movements cycled by the marrow
of a false body.
The glass absorbs the sky.
I will wait in the sane, in the dust of the rock
—in the shadow of dryness I erase them.
Soothe me with passive thoughts.
Soothe me because I don't exist.
________________________
Liliana Ponce
Theory of the Voice and Dream
translated from the Spanish by Michael Martin Shea
World Poetry 2025
