‘Canon Down’ by Angye Gaona

I follow the path of the sternum,

I search the origin of thirst,
I go to the bottom of a silver coated cannon,
Solid at the mercy of time,
Moveable when flood,
When childhood, was glacial.

I collect the roots of thought.
I strap them to my bruised back
Alongside the wild oblivion that falls off me.

They appear
From tiny caves,
The signs of pain;
Agile trick the look
And go back hiding in the skin of the canon.

Written on the walls,
The unbreakable coordinates
Of the prehistoric ray
That formed my face.

Time of depth,
Time without syllable,
When I am just a sound
In transit to fatigue.

I search for a spring
That will bathe the question attached to my story.
I search new-born life
And salute thirst.

I follow the path of the sternum.

(Translation by Maitê)

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