Pericles Anastasiades, circa 1895

They are vague, now, the faces of his face
and vague, too, the shape of his hands
far away, his breath from my mouth
his slight stature
and his fifteen years.

Only one past detains my memory
our brief love
our brief month
ten moons ago.

Suddenly
late in the night
his eyes, lined with purple
his lips
the lips of impetuous love
his long arms
the unforgettable flesh of his arms
appear to me.

Oh God, what I have lost!
What I have lost!

Traslated from Spanish by Rowena Hill