Ivory Black [Not to speak]

            Not to speak
To see and to translate into moans    It's not pain
  To moan from birth
  Only the eye and the conquering of a tongue
  (that you wanted to say that for the slit?)

 

  To return toward hearing (to touch oneself) via the
  heart is heard slowly
  Is guarded like a black poem as if it were an eye
                who might rain

From Negro marfil / Ivory Black by Myriam Moscona. Copyright © 2011 by Jen Hofer. Published by Les Figues Press. Reprinted with permission of the translator.