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in this issue
Bernardo Atxaga
Sand
Sand the most anonymous of soils,
of sand the pillars of un-paradise are made.
And the air of planet Earth
is made of sand,
of sand the satellites;
Uranus
and Venus too
all sand.
Hearts expel sand
and draw it in. Sand.
But not only sand.
Along with the sand, the essential tear
and a glass full of blood.
And there, too, amongst the blood,
yellowing letters,
broken clocks,
a Lilliputian dictionary,
a rusty shield of Sparta -
they all come too.
But in the evening, everything fades away,
as do you and the light.
Each night all that remains is sand
beneath the cruel moonlight. Sand.
Sand the most anonymous of soils,
Of sand the pillars of un-paradise are made.
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