9. Platja dura

Hard Beach

Are they catboats or yachts
the thoughts that sail
on the lake of the memory
of a burnt youth?

I allow that words be found
at random, I allow that memories
come to me intensely,
that they light bonfires,
that they kill ices.

I still walk without crutches, I eat,
drink wine, I like
incandescent lips.

On the little church esplanade
rice meals were made.
I know the grill full
of meat, and the shadow
of the cork
oaks.
        Don't complicate
even more the memories.
                                    Ask for just
the indispensable words
to make appear the image
of the things past.
                         Let them go away
like a kite
from a hill.
               The waves dash
heavily against the
dirty, blackish sand, in the hard beach
of the years lived.

(Versió de Salvador Pila)