Limits

There’s a line of Verlaine I shall not recall.

There’s a street nearby that’s forbidden to my feet,

there’s a mirror that’s seen me one last time,

there’s a door shut fast till the end of the world.

Among the books in my library (they are here)

there are some that I shall never open.

This summer I am fifty years old;

Death wears me out, unceasingly.

De Inscripciones, de JULIO PLATERO HAEDO

(Montevideo, 1923)

Jorge Luis Borges