Eyre

The pale red of the dunes.

Cloaked horizon.

The sharp blue-white of salt in my retinae.

Deep contrast,

eons of erosion

immensurable expanse

air, sand, air.

Ancestral sea.

Image of our forebears.

The eternal cycle

reverberates,

drought and deluge

rain from the north

broken banks

birds and fish

flood

renewal

hysteresis

drought

renewal.

Saltpetre scab

drifting dust

thirsty animals perish

skeletons scorched by a colossal sun.

And the wind carrying

the stench of death.

Stories speak of an island

in the centre of the lake

haven for birds by the thousands

resting from long haul flights.

Stories speak of men and a train,

of an old propeller plane, stranded for good,

of columns of camels.

Stories speak of stars and planets,

of timeless streams and their offshoots.

I dig into my memories and find nothing,

no mention of this inhospitable place

in my eyes

this lake has neither past nor future.

Here I become transient, slight,

immaterial,

foreign,

an inconsequential passer by

wasted in the bright heat of the day.

From Distancia Cero

Translated by Eyal Chipkiewicz