Heath Wing



The origin of all things…when was it?

It must have been that night. Night is the great machine.

Now it’s time to invent a soul for them, a word,
now one must make a pact of motherhood.
Or maybe it’s the other way around: maybe each word

is a search for the thing that names.


Juan Andrés García Román,
The Splintered Match (DVD, 2008)


We are against a wall here but I have to tell you if the night is on full blast with its air of

Italian wine and its late nights you and I you ask aloud you and I you ask you ask perhaps if

there can be a




if there can be an




We are here looking at each other’s belly buttons einander  looking at our nocturnal selves

looking at our nervous selves and I would like to ask you yes it’s ok if you spend the night

with me but to ask you


to ask you


to wake up


for tomorrow




is yours

and not only the inconclusive windmills of the night.


You can call me whatever you want you have my permission but




wake up


tomorrow is too clear


and my retinas are sensitive are too sensitive in the dark and your eyes are footsteps of owls

and they have squirrel feet the word


the word


you can change my name


common nouns


to call me squirrel


or moth


or deserver of light


or suicidal butterfly


you can call me


animal or waist





wake up wherever you are


wake up


the light is not only yours


wake up this time.


Translated by Heath Wing


“Nighthawks” is from the book Epidermia, (El Gaviero Ediciones, 2011).


You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.