Keep our love to yourself. All of it.
With its fire quenched by the drizzle
of time. With its buzz imperceptible
to the rest of the world. With its magic,
black or white (depending). A broken,
dilapidated love, a sofa without springs.
Lie on it to wait for death. In the meantime,
allow your memories of me to devour you.
This translation first appeared in the Spring 2022 issue of the North American Review and was included in Best Literary Translations 2024. Read Jack Rockwell’s review of the anthology here.