A Park without Paths at Six
A park without paths at six o’clock
in the afternoon in which little iron
street-lamps burn and light up
the pines and olive trees near
the motionless lake on the edge of which
a woman dressed in white
waits for me walking slowly
her eyes fixed on the
telephone wires beneath the
transparent sky and her pale hands
greet me from a distance and the
melancholy in her lips.
The rest is my affair, seƱora,
but it’s all the payment that I ask
for finding your dog Fifi
(though I’ll settle for five quid).
Translated by C.A. de Lomellini and David Tipton
Page(s) 31
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