AUBADE FOR JOXERRA AGIRRE

It comes with the dawn,
the room, leaving behind the distance of light,
shall lose itself in the mineral darkness;
I shall go then, like a badly timed trip,
Bowed my body and trembling,
at this hour when things are nothing but voices&
life will carry on
as if no one had ever died.

I have AIDS. Not to think , nor see, nor understand
fills you with dread.
Not to exist and to be banished to oblivion
lost and stumbling like an idea that didnt happen.
The wardrobe, the bed, the books
will be here for somebody
else. You can use them - they'll be told -
but they'll bring them off to Oxfam,
just in case,
let them lose the grime
of a life that was,
let them forget the sudden coming of
death. The nothing market.

It's dawn. The congregation of ostracised
voices that was I dissipates
as the inky darkness turns white.
Don't understand, don't think, don't exist
No other choice but oblivion.
The roar of a storm, snow,
dread, pelting down, all lives melting.
A frozen peace, like a cold emptiness.
It's here, it's here. And silence will
settle on the furniture like pollen.