Luís Cuadrado, Cinematographer
Do they know
I am going blind,
that I will not live
without sky, amber sun,
or a crucifix flickering
above a beeswax candle?
The lens of this camera,
my Frankenstein eye,
holds you, young Ana,
los ojos oscuros,
pulls focus, opens aperture,
narrows the depth
of vision and frames
these child eyes forever.
Do you, young Isabel,
taste the salt of blood?
Taste is nothing
to sight. My eyes,
though dim, witness
glossy red daubed
onto tender lips,
los labios rojos.
This celluloid retina,
forever rolling, unfailing,
will remember always.
My daemon machine, whirring,
never stops seeing:
Los ojos oscuros.
Los labios rojos.
(1)Written in 2008 while studying with the poet Christopher Howell.