By Antoni Vidal Ferrando
Translated By Julie Wark
Another winter has not vanquished your absence.
The sunset will come back and it is as if you were
still the weary silhouette
that submits to being possessed by a smile
on being kissed, that hand of yours
that lights the larder candle and labours
to bring out bottles or blood-red
cherries or the assault of the terrible
sweetness of your jam_ in loyal
eyes when night falls.