37 questions to the only
contact that I have beyond the border
By Bernardo Atxaga
Tell me, are happy there
people to the other side of the border?
It finds his love answer in a twenty or twenty-two
percent of the cases, or as here
the telephones are dumb, desert hearts night after night
desert hearts in the last room of the labyrinth?
Are there in your kingdom, between your territories, some called place
Greenland or Groenlandia? Are shady their valleys?
There are powerboats of the company Shell? Approach the butterflies
until the yellow shells? Nor even in winter?
Never existed there a called spy Ash-gray?
Tell me, is happy there people to the other side of the border?
You never dream about crabs? And with young blind?
You remember the cyclist Tom Simpson sometimes, how
was asphyxiated in the Aubisque? What you say of the image of his
to me like a table of chess broken on gravilla?
To the other side of the border, it protects the leaf to the fruit?
There are strawberries? Have the abyssal fish prefeelings
about the sun? They know to distinguish the word Light of the word
Those that when taking the train, disappeared in the transparency of
until when conserved the illusion of which they could remain?
One has said to me that for the birds there is no another destiny that
and that are boats that never reach a port.
When you speak of the destiny, to what you talk about exactly?
To the advantages of a safe work? Perhaps to which one eats with orange
You never say by the caravans of the desert?
They are many, you are many the inhabitants across of the border?
This people which I see every day by the street, live