Archivo Jesús Millán

Los Vigilantes, Libro de Enoc.

From the fifth cornice,
where time and space separate,
they, in perpetual alert, watch.
From the golden infinity they receive warmth.
Asael, what alerts you?

In the eternal conjunction of aged turquoise
they draw their being in divine perfection.
They are outlines in contained vigil,
in that infinite by layers where light
organizes color.

The highest one leaned, curious, over the edge.
In the earthly red something beautiful moved, do you see?
The other kept the distance of one who waits,
a light that no longer knew if it was dawn or ash.

Between both, in the intermediate layer
where the sky peels from looking down so much,
they confirm that beauty is capable.
The lines tense without knowing
if they are roots or cracks.

—Look, it is beautiful —the other replied,
and his voice was already desire.
—We will descend —swore the first.
Something trembled like a wound
trying to close before bleeding.

The earthly red received them
with mud, with sweat, with blood.
What would come after?
Beauty flooded them as they descended:
the choice that the cosmos does not forgive.

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