The Eyes that consists of very loose, homage-esque (rather than literal and faithful) translations of Antonio Machado.
This is a simple, wistful poem from that volume that I have often read myself before going to bed.
Perhaps when we’re half asleep,
the same hand that sows the stars
trails across that galactic lyre …
the dying wave reaching our lips
as two or three true words.
The Eyes is no longer in print, but much of it is included in his New and Selected Poetry.
Don Paterson on Wikipedia