IN THE VOID ...
Carlos Barbarito
trans. Brian Cole
°***°
In the void where everything and nothing is contained.
In the sluggish flow of oil from one end to the other.
In the girder under the water.
In what creaks in the night.
In the wood lit up by another form of darkness
In the illusory drawing, the flame that burns in front
of a wall.
In so much that does not exist, in smoke.
In this cloth that creases as the sky creases.
In the ultimate feeling, beyond cruelty and dust.
In the roots that spread, in dark passages where it is
always evening.
In the rubble of the days.
In the remnants of an ancient desire, burnished metal
and horses.
In a lunar theatre, the void.
In him who is perhaps the only one to list: house,
bridge, fountain, gate ...
...
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