Sing to me beautiful Circe
Now that Penelope has died;
Sing of the secret routes that you protect
The uncertainty of knowing I am a warrior between your thighs.
Sing in my ear the song you used to sing to bewitch me
I was blind to the verdure of many skies
The close walk in my own Labyrinth.
Witch od death,
Of the woods,
Beautiful nymph of the river
Ciphered clue of your breast
Your wilted petal
Over the outpouring glass of my bifurcated body.
Awaken from the trips' heavy dreams
Penelope has left also for the night
And I stand alone like a butcher in mid tree,
Sad like a worm going around the fruit.
WINSTON MORALES CHAVARRO
Translation: Luis Rafael Gálvez