jueves, agosto 27, 2009

palabras más, palabras menos

Axes/After stroke the wood rings,/ And the echoes!/Echoes traveling/ Off from the center like horses.
The sap/ Wells like tears, like the/ Water stirving/ To reestablish its mirror/ Over the rock.
Tath drops and turns/ A white skull,/ Eaten by weedy greens./ Years later I/ Encounter them on the road:
Words dry and riderless,/ the indefatigable hoof-taps./ While/ from the bottom of the pool, fixed stars/ Govern a life.

Sylvia Plath
1 de febrero de 1963