New England, 1967
The forms and colors of my dreams have changed;
now there are red houses side by side
and the fragile bronze of the dying leaves
and the chaste winter and righteous firewood.
As on the seventh day, the earth is good.
Deep in the twilight something carries on
that nearly does not exist, bold and sad,
an old murmur of Bibles and of war.
Soon (they say) the first snow will arrive;
America waits for me on every street,
but I feel in the falling light of afternoon
today so long and yesterday so brief.
Buenos Aires, it is along your streets
I go on walking, not knowing who or when.
Jorge Luis Borges
translated by Stephen Kessler