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Blanca Wiethüchter, translated by Joaquín Gavilano 

In the Distance

What can one say about distance?
Phosphorescent smoke,
inner flame, time aflame,
contours of fixed suns
crossed oceans
forming a knot in my mouth.


This distance,
thrilling memory
stubborn hollow
light’s last confinement.
I get lost and I look for you
in the rushing flavor
that I imagine for you.


On every stone
you appear hidden.
I recall once again
the identical voices
unmoving in front
of the vast emptiness.


Behind each day and night
time guards us
inside a lament.

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