Evening Rainbow
Evening. The train bound for Madrid
crosses the Guadarrama Range.
In the sky, a rainbow
fashioned by the play of moon on water.
Oh, quiet April moon, softly
nudging the white clouds.
On her lap the mother
holds her dozing child.
Though the child sleeps
still he sees the passing countryside,
green with sun-touched trees
and golden butterflies.
The mother, her somber expression
lost between yesterday and tomorrow,
sees only a hearth covered with ash
and a tiny oven, home to spiders.
I recall fields of snow
and the pines of other mountains.
And you, Lord, because of whom
we all see, and who
sees our souls,
tell us if, one day
we shall see your face.
— translated from the Spanish by Thomas Feeny