Therein the inhabitant, who is the body of your body;
therein, likewise, the inhabited one, who is your body.

And what of the illimitable loneliness nestled in the space
of your body?

There is a longing for loneliness when someone is by your 

but with no on there, it is loneliness who longs for you

–and it’s as if you weren’t there, or as if you had gone
away looking for someone else to miss.

The loneliness within the space of your body shall be, then,
a protracted one, regal and algid

–like the loneliness you imagined as a child,

a lost portrait and stilled wheel in the dismal room.

Excerpt from The Night by Jaime Saenz (trans. by Forrest Gander & Kent Johnson)