They May Love All That He Has Chosen and Hate All That He Has Rejected
Deben amar todo lo que él ha elegido y odiar todo lo que ha rechazado
El universo como un alarido primitivo
When Your Small Form Tumbled into Me
Cuando tu pequeña forma desciendió hasta mí
THE WEATHER IN SPACE
Is God being or pure force? The wind
Or what commands it? When our lives slow
And we can hold all that we love, it sprawls
In our laps like a gangly doll. When the storm
Kicks up and nothing is ours, we go chasing
After all we’re certain to lose, so alive—
Faces radiant with panic.
EL CLIMA EN EL ESPACIO
¿Dios es ser o fuerza pura? ¿El viento
O quien lo ordena? Cuando nuestras vidas se ralentizan
Y podemos retener todo lo que amamos, descansa
En nuestro regazo como una muñeca de trapo. Cuando la tormenta
Arrecia y nada nos pertenece, perseguimos
Todo aquello que con certeza perderemos, llenos de vida,
Rostros radiantes de pánico.
SCI-FI
There will be no edges, but curves.
Clean lines pointing only forward.
History, with its hard spine & dog-eared
Corners, will be replaced with nuance,
Just like the dinosaurs gave way
To mounds and mounds of ice.
Women will still be women, but
The distinction will be empty. Sex,
Having outlived every threat, will gratify
Only the mind, which is where it will exist.
For kicks, we’ll dance for ourselves
Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs.
The oldest among us will recognize that glow—
But the word sun will have been re-assigned
To a Standard Uranium-Neutralizing device
Found in households and nursing homes.
And yes, we’ll live to be much older, thanks
To popular consensus. Weightless, unhinged,
Eons from even our own moon, we’ll drift
In the haze of space, which will be, once
And for all, scrutable and safe.
CIENCIA FICCIÓN
No habrá bordes sino curvas.
Líneas limpias apuntando siempre hacia adelante.
La Historia, con su rígida columna y sus esquinas
Gastadas será sustituida con matices,
Igual que los dinosaurios dieron paso
A montones y montones