They tell me that it serves to make nightmares
stay behind it
behind its backs
that its mouth devours fear
that turns black clouds into sunny days
that give us rock from desert sand
filtered by the open window
behind its backs
I must be afraid of the dream catchers
they tell me that something black moves the world
that against the sunlight opens its white wings
and let the world be
this little heart
that lies between my hands
behind its backs
someone has crafted each of their circles
someone has crafted the world that closes
someone has crafted the light that ends
and I must be afraid of each of the dream catchers
that float by this imaginary house
for the innumerable spoils of my tribe
for the scattered remains of my battle of Verdun
for my nights of the Somme passed
the bad dreams will not happen
not pass
shouted Nivelle
and I did not know that the snow would cover each of the bodies
each of them would be a totem made of feathers
remains of buffalo horn
and sadness
I’m scared
of these dream catchers
that I make with my hands
these beings of dried flowers
that fall from my arms
while I am afraid
that everything
that each of the dreams that remain behind,
that holds this monster,
I stripped
pieces
of you.
Translator (special thanks to): Alex Díaz