By Fabrício Carpinejar, translated by Craig Epplin

First Hill – Poem 8

I recognized the age of the face
by the hurried smoke of the plain
- she made grow,
devious,
a snake that hardens
its skin
at the thrust of a knife.

Primeira Colina – Poema 8

Reconheci a antigüidade do rosto
pela fumaça apressada do prado
- ela encorpava,
ardilosa,
uma cobra que endurece
o couro
na estocada da faca.

Eighth Hill – Poem 1

The unripe oranges,
burned-out lamps,
floated in the patio’s
drain
like halted juice,
away from electricity.

Oitava Colina – Poema 1

As laranjas prematuras,
lâmpadas queimadas,
boiavam no esgoto
do pátio,
com o suco parado,
isoladas da eletricidade.

Ninth Hill – Poem 3

Life loved death
more than it had left
to die.

Nona Colina – Poema 3

A vida amou a morte
mais do que havia
para morrer.