At night the lamps of that ship
stranded at low tide
one by one turned off.
Today his rusty heart
it dawned floating on the bilge,
succumbed to oblivion
without attaining the return home.
As if one could die
of corrosive tedium,
of the too high sun of a Sunday
reflected in that dark- green water
that licks the pier.
Translated by Nicolás Suescún