A wasp crossed the hymen of the window
Luis Benítez
For two hours the shrewd animal went to 
and for naively through the house 
before the dust of things it touched the wild ferns 
the thick valleys of the tiny garden
the stone that is a plain of lava for its infinite eye:
apprehensive traveler through the rooms almost deserted
in vain encouraged the imprisoned plants, 
went around the head of the dog half-asleep, 
who shooed it away like a remorse. 
The ante-chamber was the Grand Canyon of Colorado: 
its powerful ancestors had visited before 
other countries denuded of foliage. 
It was curiosity: Rousseau never thought 
of the black wasp that dwells only on earth 
when he imagined the face of the kind convenient savage; 
curiosity to see where it's lineage spawns 
and how the big white animal 
that fears and shooes it away since the beginning of time 
kneads the mud for its nest; 
armed activist of another house 
ancient, abandoned, 
where we were the intruder, 
curious, like a black wasp.

Luis Benítez
De "Selected Poems" - (antología poética, selección y traducción de Verónica Miranda)
Ed. Luz Bilingual Publishing, Inc. Los Angeles, EE.UU., 1996.

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