Tankas
by Jorge Luis Borges
1
High on the summit
the whole garden is moon,
golden moon.
Preciouser is the rub
of your mouth in the dark.
2
The voice of a bird
the shadows abscond with
has hushed.
You walk your garden.
Something, I know, you miss.
3
The alien goblet,
the sword once a sword
in other hands,
the street moon,
say, not enough?
4
Under the moon
a gold-and-dark tiger
looks at its claws.
Not knowing at dawn
they destroyed someone.
5
Sad the rain
on marble falls,
sad to be earth.
Sad not being days
of men, dream, dawn.
6
Not to have fallen
like the rest of my blood,
in battle.
At night in vain to be
the syllable counter.
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